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THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 



THE ART OF 
STORY-TELLING 

With Nearly Half a Hundred Stories 



BY 

JULIA DARROW COBLES 

Author of "Storiea to Tell" 




CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1914 






6^ 



Copyright by 

Julia Darrow Cowles 

1914 



Published March, 1914 



MAR 1.6' 1914 



W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO 

©C!,A362914 



PREFACE 

In preparing this book the author has 
sought to awaken a keener perception and 
a higher appreciation of the artistic and 
ethical value of story-telling; to simplify 
some of its problems ; to emphasize the true 
delight which the story-teller may share with 
her hearers; and to present fresh material 
which answers to the test of being good in 
substance as well as in literary form. 

Grateful acknowledgment is made to Miss 
Mabel Bartleson, children's librarian, and to 
Miss Ida May Ferguson, of the children's 
department of the Minneapolis Public 
Library, for their thoughtful assistance, and 
to the authors and publishers of copyrighted 
stories included in this volume, for their gen- 
erous aid. Specific credit is given in 
connection with each story. 

J. D. C. 



CONTENTS 
PART I 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Story-Telling in the Home ... 1 

II. "Why Tell Stories in School ? ... 16 

III. How to Choose Stories for Telling . 22 

IV. The Telling of the Story .... 32 
V. Use op the Story in Primary Grades 41 

YI. Jingles, Fables, and Folk-Lore . . 52 

YII. Myth and Hero Tale 67 

VIII. Holiday and Vacation Stories ... 84 

IX. Bible Stories 89 

X. Systematic Story-Telling 94 

XI. The Joy of Story-Telling .... 100 

XII. Story-Telling as an Art 104 

PAET II 

Selected Stories to Tell 113 

Index op Selected Stories 263 

Topical Index of Stories 265 

Books for the Story-Teller 267 



"The Word Painter is the Greatest Human Artist'* 



PART I 

The Art of Story-Telung 



The Art of Story-Telling 

CHAPTER I 
Story-Telling in the Home 

THE home, the school, and the library 
have each a distinct purpose in story- 
telling. These purposes may he more or less 
complex, they may in some instances coin- 
cide, yet the fields are separate, and each 
has its own fundamental reason for present- 
ing the oral story to the child. 

In the home, the chief object in story- 
telling is to give content, to satisfy. The 
child, becoming tired of his toys or of his 
games, comes to his mother and begs for a 
story. He wants to be taken into her lap, 
cuddled within her arms, and entertained. 
Oh, the wonderful, the far-reaching opportu- 
nities held by the mother in such moments 
as these! The child is in a quiet, receptive 
mood, and the stories told him at such times 
will never be forgotten; their influence will 
follow him as long as he lives. Nothing that 

1 



2 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

he can learn in school in the after years will 
abide and enter into the essence of his being 
as will the stories which his mother tells him. 
Strength of character, purity of life, tmth- 
fulness, unselfishness, obedience, faith — all 
may be made beautiful and attractive by 
means of stories. 

Nor is the directly ethical training the 
greatest good achieved by story-telling in the 
home. Nothing else so closely links mother 
and child in a sweet fellowship and com- 
munion of thought. Nothing else so inti- 
mately binds them together, nor so fully 
secures the confidence of the child. When they 
enter together the enchanted realm of story- 
land, mother and child are in a region apart, 
a region from which others are excluded. 
The companionship of story-land belongs only 
to congenial souls. And so the mother, by 
means of stories, becomes the intimate com- 
panion, the loving and wise guide, the dearest 
confidant of her child. 

Not all the stories of the home need be 
ethical in their teaching, though all stories 
worth telling have a foundation of truth. 
There should be a wise blending of fairy 
stories, mythological tales, fables, nonsense 



STORY-TELLING IN THE HOME 3 

verses, and true nature stories; and the 
advantage of story-telling is that it may be 
carried on in connection with many of the 
household duties, with no diminishing of the 
story's charm. "While the mother sews or 
embroiders or mends, while she stirs a cake, 
or washes dishes, she can tell a story which 
will not only entertain or influence the child, 
but will carry her own thoughts away from 
the ofttimes dullness of her task into realms 
of beauty and delight. Then, too, many a 
childish task may be robbed of its seemingly 
tedious character by the telling of a story 
during its progress, or as a reward when 
the task is completed. 

Let me beg of you, mothers, do not think 
that you cannot tell stories. Try; try; keep 
on trying; and ease in telling is bound to 
come. Do not think of yourself in the tell- 
ing; think of the story and of the child who 
listens. Nothing else matters. 

It takes time to search out and familiarize 
oneself with just the stories that are best 
worth telling, but surely no mother can find 
a more important or more worthy object upon 
which to expend the time. Librarians and 
story-tellers within the past few years have 



4 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

prepared lists which make such selection 
comparatively easy, and classified lists are 
included in the present volume. 

The very little child can grasp only the 
simplest story, but the essential facts of any 
story which he can comprehend, can be sim- 
ply told. A story for a little child should 
have few characters, little if any plot, and a 
familiarity of action or place. Mother Groose 
and similar nursery rhymes naturally come 
first for Httle children in the home. The 
kindergarten collections of stories contain 
good material, and these can be followed by 
or interspersed with the simplest myths and 
fairy tales. 

Just as children love the companionship 
of animals, so do they love stories of animals ; 
and when these animals do the things that 
children do, an element of surprise and new 
delight is added. Children intuitively want 
the right to prevail. They love the old tales 
wherein animals talk, and the crafty old fox 
is always beaten by the good little hen. 

Bible stories should be told to children day 
by day. They can be made very simple in 
outline, but they should be told over and over, 
with a distinction made between them and 



STORY-TELLING IN THE HOME 5 

the fables and folk tales. The latter may 
teach a true lesson, but the former teach The 
Truth. And not only should we tell the Old 
Testament stories of heroes and of great 
wonders, but the story of Christ's birth, of 
his life, his death, and his resurrection, should 
be made a part of every child's early teach- 
ing in the form of stories reverently told. 
They will make a lasting impression; an 
impression deeper than the most eloquent 
sermon heard in maturer years. 

A careful choice of the kind of stories told 
to little children lays not only a sound moral 
foundation, but a foundation for good literary 
taste. 

A child brought up from its earliest years 
on stories from the Bible, Anderson, ^sop, 
Stevenson, and Field, will instinctively de- 
tect and reject trash when he begins to read 
for himself. But the supply of good litera- 
ture must be kept at hand, for children will 
read something. 

What sweeter bit of verse can a mother 
repeat to the child she is hushing to sleep 
than this : 

Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings — 
Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes; 



6 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Sleep to the singing of motherbird swinging — 
Swinging her nest where her little one lies. 

In through the window a moonbeam comes — 
Little gold moonbeam with misty wings; 

All silently creeping, it asks : " Is he sleeping — 
Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings? " 

The stanzas are from ''A Japanese Lul- 
laby,'* and are selected from a host of sim- 
ilarly dainty verses in Lullaby Land, by 
Eugene Field (Charles Scribner's Sons). 

Kobert Louis Stevenson's Child's Garden 
of Verse is another storehouse of treasure 
for mothers. Some of his rhymes, such as 
** Good and Bad Children," are quite equal 
to Mother Goose in their good advice admin- 
istered in quaintly merry form, while his 
' * Foreign Lands ' ' and ' ' My Shadow ' ' teach 
children to idealize the every-day happenings 
of the home life. 

How could a mother better remind her 
small boy or girl that it is time to waken 
than by repeating his lines : 

A birdie with a yellow bill 

Hopped upon the window-sill, 
Cocked his shining eye and said: 

" Ain't you 'shamed, you sleepy-head! " 

When a mother habitually repeats to her 
child stories and verses of the character out- 



STORY-TELLING IN THE HOME 7 

lined, she is not only forming his taste in 
literature along right lines, but she is helping 
to enlarge his vocabulary. 

'* What does ' embark ' mean, Mamma? " 
is sure to follow the first or second recital 
of Stevenson's '' My Bed Is a Boat " : 

My bed is like a little boat; 

Nurse helps me in when I embark; 
She girds me in my sailor coat 

And starts me in the dark. 

And ''gird" will also need interpreting. 
These words will soon become a part of his 
normal vocabulary. He may not use them in 
his everyday speech, but he will not need to 
have them explained to him when he comes 
upon them in his later reading. Teachers 
invariably know when a child comes from a 
home of culture and of good literary taste, 
by the foundation already laid. The child's 
own forms of expression and the range of his 
vocabulary are unmistakable evidence of the 
home influence and teaching. 

A literary sequence which will give the 
child a knowledge of literature as a develop- 
ment or a growth — not as a vast accumula- 
tion of unrelated parts — can be carried 
through his reading and study. This subject 



8 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

is taken up in the chapter upon * ' Systematic 
Story-Telling," and while it is essentially the 
work of a teacher, the foundation for it may 
be laid by the wise mother who starts her 
child along right lines through the medium of 
her story-telling. 

It has already been said that all stories 
worth the telling have a foundation of truth. 
The story with which this chapter closes is a 
beautiful example of a nature story which 
embodies a higher truth. It is found in Mrs. 
Gratty's Parables from Nature (The Mac- 
millan Company) : 

A Lesson of Faith* 

A mild, green caterpillar was one day 
strolling about on a cabbage leaf, when there 
settled beside her a beautiful Butterfly. 

The Butterfly fluttered her wings feebly, 
and seemed very ill. 

*' I feel very strange and dizzy," said the 
Butterfly, addressing the Caterpillar, *'and 
I am sure that I have but a little while to 
live. But I have just laid some butterfly 
eggs on this cabbage leaf, and if I die there 
will be no one to care for my baby butterflies. 

* Adapted for telling. By permission of the publishers. 



STORY-TELLING IN THE HOME 9 

I must hire a nurse for them at once, but I 
cannot go far to seek for one. May I hire you 
as nurse, kind Caterpillar? I will pay you 
with gold dust from my wings.*' 

Then, before the surprised Caterpillar 
could reply, the Butterfly went on, *' Of course 
you must not feed them on the coarse cab- 
bage leaves which are your food. Young 
butterflies must be fed upon early dew and 
the honey of flowers. And at first, oh, good 
Caterpillar, they must not be allowed to fly 
far, for their wings will not be strong. It 
is sad that you cannot fly yourself. But I 
am sure you will be kind, and will do the 
best you can." 

"With that the poor Butterfly drooped her 
v^ings and died, and the Caterpillar had no 
ihance to so much as say ^' Yes," or " No." 

" Dear mel " she exclaimed, as she looked 
a^t the butterfly eggs beside her, " what sort 
Df a nurse will I make for a group of gay 
^oung butterflies? Much attention they will 
pay to the advice of a plain caterpillar like 
ne. But I shall have to do the best that I 
3an," she added. And all that night she 
svalked around and around the butterfly eggs 
'^o see that no harm came to them. 



10 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

**I wish that I had someone wiser than 
myself to consult with," she said to herself 
next morning. ** I might talk it over with 
the house dog. But, no," she added hastily, 
* ' he is kind, but big and rough, and one brush 
of his tail would whisk all the eggs off the 
cabbage leaf. 

*' There is Tom Cat," she went on, after 
thinking a few moments, '' but he is lazy and 
selfish, and he would not give himself the 
trouble to think about butterfly eggs. 

" Ah, but there's the Lark! " she exclaimed 
at length. '' He flies far up into the heavens 
and perhaps he knows more than we crea 
tures that live upon the earth. I 'U ask him.' 
So the Caterpillar sent a message to the 
Lark, who lived in a neighboring cornfield 
and she told him all her troubles. 

" And I want to know how I, a poor crawl 
ing Caterpillar, am to feed and care for a 
family of beautiful young butterflies. Could 
you find out for me the next time you fl^ 
away up into the blue heavens? " 
"Perhaps I can," said the Lark, and of 

he flew. 

Higher and higher he winged his way until 
the poor, crawling Caterpillar could not even^ 



STORY-TELLING IN THE HOME ii 

hear his song, to say nothing of seeing him. 

After a very long time — at least it seemed 
so to the Caterpillar, who, in her odd, Imn- 
bering way, kept walking around and around 
the butterfly eggs — the Lark came back. 

First, she could hear his song away up 
in the heavens. Then it sounded nearer and 
nearer, till he alighted close beside her and 
began to speak. 

"I found out many wonderful things," 
he said. '' But if I tell them to you, you will 
not believe me." 

" Oh, yes I will," answered the Caterpillar 
hastily, *' I believe everything I am told." 

''Well, then," said the Lark, ''the first 
thing I found out was that the butterfly eggs 
will turn into little green caterpillars, just 
like yourself, and that they will eat cabbage 
leaves just as you do." 

"Wretch!" exclaimed the Caterpillar, 
bristling with indignation. ' ' Why do you 
come and mock me with such a story as that! 
I thought you would be kind, and would try 
to help me." 

"So I would," answered the Lark, "but 
I told you, you would not believe me," and 
with that he flew away to the cornfield. 



12 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

" Dear me,'' said the Caterpillar, sorrow- 
fully. '' When the Lark flies so far up into 
the heavens I should not think he would come 
back to us poor creatures with such a silly- 
tale. And I needed help so badly." 

**I would help you if you would only 
believe me," said the Lark, flying down to 
the cabbage patch once more. ** I have won- 
derful things to tell you, if you would only 
have faith in me and trust in what I say." 

" And you are not making fun of me? " 
asked the Caterpillar. 

**0f course not," answered the Lark. 

** But you tell me such impossible things ! " 

** If you could fly with me and see the won- 
ders that I see, here on earth, and away up 
in the blue sky, you would not say that any- 
thing was impossible," replied the Lark. 

" But," said the Caterpillar, '* you tell me 
that these eggs will hatch out into cater- 
pillars, and I know that their mother was a 
butterfly, for I saw her with my own eyes; 
and so of course they will be butterflies. How 
could they be anything else? I am sure I can 
reason that far, if I cannot fly." 

** Very well," answered the Lark, " then I 
must leave you, though I have even more 



STORY-TELLING IN THE HOME 13 

wonderful things that I could tell. But what 
comes to you from the heavens, you can only 
receive by faith, as I do. You cannot crawl 
around on your cabbage leaf and reason these 
things out." 

"Oh, I do believe what I am told," re- 
peated the Caterpillar — although she had 
just proved that it was not true — ^' at least," 
she added, " everything that is reasonable 
to believe. Pray tell me what else you 
learned." 

"I learned," said the Lark, impressively, 
" that you will be a butterfly, yourself, some 
day." 

" Now, indeed, you are making fun of me," 
.exclaimed the Caterpillar, ready to cry with 
vexation and disappointment. But just at 
that moment she felt something brush against 
her side, and, turning her head, she looked 
in amazement at the cabbage leaf, for there, 
just coming out of the butterfly eggs, were 
eight or ten little green caterpillars — and 
they were no more than out of the eggs before 
they began eating the juicy leaf. 

Oh, how astonished and how ashamed the 
Caterpillar felt. What the Lark had said 
was true! 



^ 



14 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

And then a very wonderful thonglit came ^ ' 
to the poor, green Caterpillar. ** If this part 
is true, it must all be true, and some day I 
shall be a hutterfly." 

She was so delighted that she began tell- 
ing all her caterpillar friends about it — but 
they did not believe her any more than shej^ 
had believed the Lark. ' 

*' But I know, I know/' she kept saying to 
herself. And she never tired of hearing the 
Lark sing of the wonders of the earth below, 
and of the heavens above. 

And all the time, the little green caterpil- 
lars on the leaf grew and thrived wonder- 
fully, and the big green Caterpillar watched 
them and cared for them carefully every* : 
hour. 

One day the Caterpillar's friends gathered 
around her and said, very sorrowfully, ' ' It 
is time for you to spin your chrysalis and 
die." 

But the Caterpillar replied, ^ ' You mean 
that I shall soon be changed into a beautifuj 
butterfly. How wonderful it will be." 

And her friends looked at one another 
sadly and said, * ' She is quite out of hei 
mind." 



STORY-TELLING IN THE HOME 15 

Then the Caterpillar spun her chrysalis and 
went to sleep. 

And by and by, when she wakened, oh, 
then she knew that what the Lark had learned 
in the heavens was true — for she was a beau- 
tiful butterfly, with gold dust on her wings. 



CHAPTER 11 

Why Tell Stories in School? 

EVERY lover of children knows that a 
good story, well told, is a source of the 
purest joy; but while this of itself is suffi- 
cient reason for story-telling in the home and 
in the nursery, it is not sufficient reason for 
general story-telling in the school. Happi- 
ness is a powerful ally of successful work, but 
it never should be substituted for the work 
itself ; it may well be made one of the means 
of attainment, but never the object to be 
attained. Useful service is a far higher ideal 
than personal happiness, and it should be the 
ideal held before the child who enters school. 
As all educational methods have for their 
ultimate object that of making the child of 
today the good neighbor, the true friend, the 
useful citizen of tomorrow, so we have a right 
to question the recent and growing demand 
for story-telling in our schools. What is its 
object? Does this object aid in the ultimate 
end to be attained? 

16 



WHY TELL STORIES 17 

First of all let ns consider the well-recog- 
nized fact that through story-telling a teacher 
may come into so close and happy a relation- 
ship with her pupils that they will respond 
to her suggestions and be molded by her 
influence to a degree not easily attainable by 
any other means. A story may be told as a 
means of restoring order in a roomful of 
restless children, or when some untoward 
occurrence has brought the tension of school 
discipline dangerously near to the breaking 
point. This use of the timely, the appropriate, 
story is worthy of consideration by teachers 
far beyond the primary grades. 

Stories may be used as an aid to language 
work. The diffident, self-conscious child who 
cannot be induced to talk upon the ordinary 
topics of school work, can be aroused into 
forgetfulness of self and made to respond 
with growing animation to questions regard- 
ing a story that has awakened his interest. 
A * * point of contact ' ' may be established 
with even the dullest child if his interests are 
studied and the right story chosen for telling. 
Sometimes the story may need to be impro- 
vised to fit the occasion. A story chosen, or 
especially written to meet the need of some 



i8 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

particular child, lias in more than one in- 
stance influenced his whole after life. 

Lessons of unselfishness, of thoughtfulness, 
of cleanliness, of patriotism, of obedience — • 
of all the characteristics which we wish to 
cultivate in the children — may be impressed 
by means of stories. This field of story- 
telling should begin in the home, but it may 
well extend on into the school room. 

A love of nature and of outdoor life may 
be strengthened by stories of birds and ani- 
mals, of trees and of plant life, thus leading 
naturally to essays and poems upon the same 
subjects for later reading. 

The funny story has its legitimate place in 
the school room, although there are teachers 
who would as soon think of introducing a bit 
of fun into a church service as into a school 
session. But fun is a wonderful lubricant, 
and there are times when a funny story will 
oil up the pedagogical machinery as nothing 
else could. 

In the more advanced grades stories may 
be used to awaken an interest in history, both 
local and general, ancient and modem. Noth- 
ing better can be devised for making the dry 
bones of names and dates take on life, than 



WHY TELL STORIES 19 

the telling of an interesting story of the time 
and the characters of the lesson. Such stories 
should not be told as an end in themselves, 
but as a means to an end^ — the awakening 
of interest in historical subjects by giving life 
and reality to historical characters. 

In the same manner an interest in the 
works of the best authors may be aroused 
by telling the story of one character in a 
book, or by telling part of the story of a book 
and leaving it at an interesting point. There 
are many children, boys especially, who leave 
school after passing through the seventh or 
eighth grade. If they have not formed a 
taste for good literature, their reading after 
leaving school is likely to be without value 
if it is not positively injurious. One of the 
surest means of leading such boys to read 
and enjoy good books lies in the hands of 
the teachers of these grades. Let her tell 
stories from Dickens, from Scott, from 
Cooper, from Stevenson; let her tell stories 
from local history, general history; stories 
of discovery, of science, and of art. Let her 
make these things attractive, and show her 
pupils where more of the same fascinating 
material may be found. 



20 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

So thorougMy is the value of this class of 
story-telling understood that progressive 
librarians throughout the country are having 
** story hours '' at the libraries for the pur- 
pose of reaching boys of this age and bring- , 
ing them into closer touch with the treasures 
of the library shelves. Teachers in districts 
having any large percentage of boys of this 
class can accomplish far-reaching results by 
devoting some portion of each week, at least, 
to telling stories having this special end in 
view. 

With the foregoing objects — a sympa- 
thetic understanding between teacher and 
pupils, better discipline, help for the self- 
conscious and the '^dull'» pupil, character 
lessons, the development of a love of nature, 
an interest in history and in good literature 
— all attainable through story-telling, there 
remains little ground for question as to the 
work coinciding in its results with the ulti- 
mate object of our common school education. 
But let the teacher have a definite object in 
her story-telling. Let her use this new-old 
art as a means of arousing her pupils to 
action, to achievement. A story told in school 
should not be offered as a sugary, educa- 



WHY TELL STORIES 21 

tional confection which will destroy the taste 
for solid food, but as a spicy condiment to 
whet the appetite for a substantial feast. 



CHAPTER III 
How to Choose Stories for Telling 

THEEE are certain subtle qualities wHch 
a story must possess in order to give 
pleasure through its telling, which are not 
necessary in the story which is to be read. 
These qualities are of form rather than of 
substance. They are those qualities which 
permit of the personality of the speaker 
entering into the narrative to such an extent 
that the story becomes a recounting of some- 
thing known to her. No matter how remote 
in point of time or place, the story must be 
of a character which can be personally set 
forth. I do not mean by this that the one 
who tells the story should be thrown into the 
foreground, or that there should be any use 
of the pronoun ' ' I " ; but simply that the 
teller of the story should be able to set it 
forth with all the earnestness and intimacy 
of a personal narrative, and the story itself 
must therefore possess the form which makes 
this possible. 

22 



HOW TO CHOOSE STORIES 23 

A stoiy of this cliaracter may be so told 
to a roomful of small children that it will 
hold them breathless with interest even at 
the close of a hard day's work, and when 
the dismissal bell is ringing, as the writer 
has inadvertently proved. 

To some, the story that is adapted in sub- 
stance and in form for telling, makes instant 
appeal. Its possibilities are intuitively rec- 
ognized. To others, only a critical examina- 
tion and analysis will show whether the story 
is one to which children will listen with 
delight. Of course, after all is said and done, 
the true test of the story lies in telling it. 

What, then, are the essential requirements 
in the form of the story? 

The story must begin in an interesting 
way. The first sentence, or at most the first 
paragraph, should locate the story and intro- 
duce its hero. To be sure the ''location" 
may be that delightfully indefinite past from 
which so many of childhood's stories emanate 
— the * ' Once upon a time ' ' of the fairy tale 
or of the ' ' little small Eid Hin " ; or it may 
be ' ' many years ago " ; or ' 4n ancient times, ' ' 
as in the story of ' ' Why the Cat and Dog 
Are Enemies"; or simply "once" — "There 



24 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

was once a shepherd boy who called * "Wolf, ' ' ' 
or ** The Sun and the Wind once had a 
quarrel. ' ' 

Of course the time may, on the other hand, 
be very definite — '' 'Twas the night before 
Christmas ' ' — but in either case the story 
starts out positively, the place or time is 
assigned, the subject of the story is intro- 
duced. Then you will see the children, their 
expectation aroused, settle themselves for the 
delightful developments which are to be un- 
folded, for the denouement which is sure to 
follow, and their eager faces are all the 
incentive needed to arouse the story-teller to 
her best endeavor. 

The story, properly introduced, should 
move forward clearly, somewhat concisely, 
toward a well-defined end or climax. The 
form should be mainly narrative or conver- 
sational, with vivid touches of description 
never prolonged. There should be life, action, 
dramatic action, but very little of explana- 
tion. The incidents of the story should be 
so arranged as to be self-explanatory in their 
sequence. 

For small children, repetition has a special 
charm — repetition such as is to be found in 



HOW TO CHOOSE STORIES 25 

** The Three Bears," or "■ The Cock and the 
Mouse." 

For older children there may be introduced 
a little more of the descriptive form, but it 
is well to beware of adding much of either 
description or explanation. Even * ' grown- 
ups " enjoy the straightforward narrative 
that delights the child, and the introduction 
of detail soon grows irksome and uninterest- 
ing, even to the most conscientious listener. 
And no child is a ' ' conscientious listener. ' ' 
He listens for love of the story. If it does 
not interest him he stops listening and does 
something else. 

The story must reach a climax and stop 
there. Many a good story has been spoiled 
by its ending. Story-tellers sometimes re- 
mind one of a man holding the handles of an 
electric battery. The current is so strong 
that he cannot let go. The story-teller must 
know when and how to ''let go." Let us 
suppose that, in telling Hans Christian An- 
derson's story of " The Nightingale," the 
story-teller — after the delightful denoue- 
ment of the supposedly dead Emperor's 
greeting to his attendants, where he " to their 
astonishment said ' Good morning ! ' " — 



26 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

were to add an explanation of tlie effect of 
the nightingale's song in restoring the Em- 
peror to health ! It would be like offering a 
glass of ' ' plain soda ' ' from which all the 
effervescence had departed. 

Bring the story to its self -wrought denoue- 
ment and — let go. Do not apologize for the 
ending, do not explain it, do not tack on a 
moral — just ''let go," and you will leave 
all the tingle and exhilaration of the magnetic 
current still in the veins of your listeners. 

So much for the structural form of the 
story. Next let us consider its 

Point of Contact 

Has the story something which is in com- 
mon with the life and experience of the 
listeners? Has it a familiar groundwork? 
Does it deal with familiar objects or actions? 
In other words, is it "understandable" 
from the child's point of view? Not that all 
the characters nor all the adjustments of the 
story need to be those which the child already 
knows by experience, but there must be some 
common ground from which a start may be 
made. Then the story may lead on into won- 
derful regions of fancy or into remote times 



HOW TO CHOOSE STORIES 27 

and places which only the imagination can 
trace. For instance, of what value or inter- 
est would the story of '' Toads and Dia- 
monds " be to a child who never had seen 
a toad and who had no knowledge of what 
a diamond was like'? And does not the boy's 
understanding of * ' How Thor Went Fish- 
ing " lie in the fact that he has fished? 

Little children love to be told stories of the 
life which they know by daily contact ; stories 
of the home and of the home industries, of 
school, of children, of pets and animals. They 
live in * * a daily fellowship with nature and 
all creatures." Fairy tales and stories of 
animals are doubly delightful when the 
fairies and the animals do the things which 
children do. This does not imply that the 
story be commonplace, for the normal activi- 
ties of children are far removed from the 
commonplace, and the story, having its point 
of contact established, should, through its 
imaginative or its moral influence, carry the 
child into quite unexplored regions of beauty 
and truth. 

This leads us to another determining fac- 
tor — the determining factor — in choosing a 
story. 



28 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Is It Worth Telling? 

The structural form of a story may be 
changed ; with more difficulty a point of con- 
tact may be established by a bit of suggest- 
ive explanation, but if the story content is 
not good, no amount of ''doctoring" will 
make it worth the telling. 

Suppose we apply these tests : Is the effect 
of the story helpful? Does it strengthen the 
imagination"? Does it teach a right principle 
of action'? Does it inspire a love for the 
beautiful and the true? Does it inspire rev- 
erence for the Creator and appreciation of 
the works of His hand? Does it exemplify 
sane and happy living? Does it teach neigh- 
borly kindness ? Will its telling make a child 
better and happier? If the story calls for 
an affirmative answer to any of these ques- 
tions, if, in other words, its teaching is sim- 
ple, pure, and true, then it is by all means 
worthy of telling. 

It is not necessary that the story should 
make no mention of selfishness, of craftiness, 
of evil temper, or of disobedience to laws 
moral or physical ; but no story in which evil 
is rewarded or in which the wrongdoer tri- 



HOW TO CHOOSE STORIES 29 

umphs should ever be told to children, for 
in its essence such a story is not true, its 
teaching is not true ; it is not in accord with 
God's eternal laws. Children assimilate long 
before they analyze. 

At first glance it may seem easy to decide 
as to the moral influence of a story, but there 
are differences of opinion even here, and 
some writers condemn unsparingly that old 
acquaintance of our childhood. Jack, of Bean- 
stalk fame, and set him down as an arrant 
thief and murderer whose crimes brought him 
riches and comfort in his old age. And the 
tale of Cinderella, while it can be said to 
cast no stain upon the character of its hero- 
ine, is condemned as leaving an impression, 
upon the impressionable mind of childhood, 
that all step-mothers are hard and cruel and 
unjust. As the Mother Goose stories are 
dealt with at greater length in a later chap- 
ter, I will make no comment now upon these 
criticisms. But they are worthy of due con- 
sideration, and go to show that it is not 
always as easy as it may at first appear, to 
judge the exact influence of a story, and some 
of our old acquaintances which have been 
accepted simply because they are old ac- 



30 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

quaintances, may really need to be given the 
" cut direct." 

This much is safe to say : If you have any 
doubts about the influence of a story being 
wholly good, leave it untold. There are so 
many good stories, so many whose teaching 
is wholly and positively helpful, that there 
is no need of hesitating over one which 
presents a doubt. 

There is one more qualification which 
should be required of the story told to chil- 
dren. It should be written in 

Good Literary Form 

Since one of the objects of story- telling 
is to cultivate a taste for good literature, the 
story chosen should not only be tellable in 
its form and true in its essence, but it should 
be artistic in its workmanship. It should 
be written in pure, simple English, fitted to 
the thought expressed. But, it may be ob- 
jected, few story-tellers ever give a story in 
the exact language in which it is written. 
This is true, for if the story is learned word 
for word, the narrator is very apt to give a 
recitation, rather than to tell a story. At 
the same time the true story-teller will learn 



HOW TO CHOOSE STORIES 31 

her story so thoroughly, will become so at 
home in every essential detail, that the spirit 
and style of the writer will be assimilated 
and so bound up with the story itself that the 
literary qualities will be retained and their 
essence imparted to the orally reproduced 
story. So, only, can appreciation and love 
for the beauty of literary forms be imparted 
to the children by means of the verbal story. 
Herein lies the art of the story-teller. 



CHAPTER IV 
The Telling of the Story 

HAVING chosen the right story for tell- 
ing, the next consideration is how to 
tell it in the best manner possible. 

Aside from all question of voice, enuncia- 
tion, ease of manner — which, though, im- 
portant, are more or less matters of personal 
habit or physical endowment — there are two 
absolute essentials to successful story-tell- 
ing : a thorough knowledge of the story, and 
forgetfulness of self. 

The best story may be spoiled by the man- 
ner of telling. A good story told by a master 
of the art will be a source of delight, while 
the same story told by a self-conscious, 
poorly prepared novice will be annoyingly 
tiresome. 

The first step in the preparation, then, 
must be a thorough assimilation of the story. 
This does not involve memorizing, but the 
substance of the story must be made your 
own. Formulate in your own mind its plan 

32 



THE TELLING OF THE STORY 33 

or outline. What is its climax'? What are 
the essential facts leading to this climax? 
How do they follow, in order to bring about 
the final surprise or culmination? 

Having this outline well fixed in mind, 
begin to fill in details. Note the bits of wit 
or of wisdom which strengthen the story; 
the apt phrases or happy turns of expression 
which exactly fit the thought. Memorize 
these, and these only. Think the story over, 
again and again, until it becomes a personal 
possession — something which you know. 
Then begin formulating it. You can do this 
mentally, inaudibly at first, following the gen- 
eral mode of expression of the written story, 
so that you will tell it in a manner which 
conforms to the literary style of the author. 
This is not difficult, for if you have selected 
a well-written story, the style in which it is 
written will be in keeping with its character 
and will seem the natural mode of expression. 
This assimilation of style as well as of sub- 
stance takes the place of literal memorizing. 
It allows full liberty in the telling, while 
memorizing only cramps and hampers. 

Eepeat the story mentally until you not 
only know its substance as a personal experi- 



34 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

ence, but until you are so familiar with its 
literary style that you could scarcely tell 
that particular story in any other form. 
This assimilation of style as well as of sub- 
stance takes time, but the ability to learn a 
story readily will come with practice. After 
you have mastered the method of learning, 
you will be able to acquire new stories with 
little difficulty. 

You are now ready to tell the story orally ; 
not at once to an audience — at least not until 
you have gained sufficient experience to know 
to just what extent you can depend upon 
yourself — but to an imaginary assembly. A 
doll makes a very good '' practice auditor," 
and is not inclined to encourage you over- 
much by her responsiveness. If your imagi- 
nation is good, a sofa pillow or a chair will do 
as well. You will probably make your first 
audible effort at an opportune moment when 
you are left quite alone in the house, and the 
first opening door will bring the rehearsal 
to a definite close. But in time, if you perse- 
vere, the family will become used to it. As 
for yourself, however, you will probably find 
that an amused audience of one, even though 
unseen, is more conducive to self-conscious- 



THE TELLING OF THE STORY 35 

ness than an interested audience of one 
hundred. 

A teacher presenting a story to her own 
class of pupils will not, of course, have so 
many difficulties to overcome. She and the 
children are on a familiar footing; she talks 
to them every day; she knows the number 
and responsiveness of her audience, the size 
of the room, the carrying power of her own 
voice. She is scarcely conscious that these 
factors enter into the success of story-telling. 
But when a story-teller addresses an un- 
known audience, these factors assume unex- 
pected importance. 

I have in mind an early experience when 
a story hour was arranged at one of the 
branch libraries of a large city. I knew that 
the '' fifty-seven varieties " of childhood were 
accustomed to assemble there and that the 
room was not large, but I was not prepared 
to find two hundred children compressed 
within little more than two hundred square 
feet of space. My natural voice proved 
wholly inadequate. I began, but saw at once 
that the children at the farther end of the 
room could not hear, and I stopped. Taking 
a more central position, I found an entirely 



36 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

new voice — one so much higher pitched that 
I am sure I should never have recognized it 
as my own, elsewhere — and I told the stories. 
The new voice carried, and under the condi- 
tions sounded wholly normal. The children 
grew quiet, and for nearly an hour we traveled 
together through fairy-land, across western 
prairies, along the streets of Hamelin town, 
into the Empire of Japan, and among the 
Korean folk. How we did enjoy it ! 

The incident taught me two things at least : 
one, the value of having an intimate knowl- 
edge of the stories to be told, so that no un- 
expectedness of conditions could cause them 
to take flight; the other, the necessity of 
being able to adapt oneself to unexpected 
conditions. 

The need of adapting the story, or the 
mode of telling, to the requirements of the 
immediate occasion, can only be learned by 
watching your audience. 

Be sure your voice reaches the farthest 
child in the room. You need not use a loud 
tone, but a little difference in the pitch will 
make a great diif erence in the carrying qual- 
ity. If the children must exert themselves, 
hold themselves tense, in ordfer to hear, they 



THE TELLING OF THE STORY 37 

will soon relax the effort and become restless 
and indifferent. 

If a child becomes inattentive, address your 
story to him for a time, and turn to him 
frequently afterward. Each child loves to 
feel that the story is being told to hnn. For 
this reason, the story and the children are 
the only things to be taken account of. The 
story should be told directly to the individual 
children, not to the mass of children. 

At a recent story hour the children were 
grouped upon the left hand side of the large 
audience room, and the older people, of whom 
there were a goodly number, upon the right 
hand side. A small cousin of the story-teller 
— aged three — who had heard the stories 
until he could tell them himself, sat upon his 
grandfather's lap on the ''grown-up" side 
of the room. 

The story-teller devoted her attention to 
the children's side of the room exclusively. 
She began with the story of ''Raggylug," 
by Ernest Thompson-Seton. The moment the 
story was finished, a small voice from the 
neglected side of the room demanded, ' ' Now 
tell it to me!" 

The incident is used to show that each 



38 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

child wants to feel that the story is being 
told to him, and emphasizes the need of tell- 
ing stories with a personal directness of 
appeal. 

I have said that the story and the children 
should be the only things of which the story- 
teller takes note. A consciousness of one's 
own self as the actor upon the boards, spoils 
all. 

This self-consciousness may be betrayed 
by a nervous twirling of a handkerchief, a 
twisting of rings or bracelet, by an arranging 
of the hair or the dress. It may be but a 
slight action in itself, but it betrays the fault 
which will be felt, though probably not 
defined. 

Forget yourself. Become so interested in 
your story that you can think of nothing else 
— except the children who are drinking it in. 

You may safely use as much dramatic 
action as springs spontaneously from a vivid 
telling of the story, but it must never be a 
conscious effort for dramatic effect. Give 
yourself perfect liberty. As you watch your 
audience, interpolate, enlarge, omit, explain 
briefly, as you see the need arise — but you 
can only do this if you know your story. The 



THE TELLING OF THE STORY 39 

changes made should all be kept in harmony 
with the style of the original narrative, and 
used only in order to stimulate or to arouse 
your hearers to a quicker perception or a 
better understanding. 

Take time to bring out the essence of the 
tale, to impress the beauty of the description, 
to enhance the humor of a situation. A story 
should never be hurriedly told, any more 
than it should be hurriedly prepared. 

It is quite possible for the same story to 
be so told as to teach exactly opposite lessons, 
and yet without any alteration of the essen- 
tial facts. This point is well illustrated by 
the story of " Eobin Hood and Sir Eichard- 
at-the-Lea," taken as an example. In this 
story it would be easy to call undue attention 
to Eobin Hood as the '' robber outlaw." On 
the other hand, it is equally easy, by a few 
wise omissions, or a difference in handling, 
to make prominent the characteristics which 
caused him to be loved by all his /'merrie 
men," trusted by the poor and helpless, and 
worshipped as a hero by the boys of all suc- 
ceeding generations. This difference in han- 
dling applies to nearly all of the Eobin Hood 
stories, and to many of the old nursery tales 



40 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

as well. They illustrate the point which I 
have made, that the same story may be so 
written, or so told, as to leave entirely dif- 
ferent impressions upon the mind. 

The story-teller may not as a rule require 
special training in the use of the speaking 
voice, but it is essential that she enunciate 
easily, clearly, and agreeably. A well modu- 
lated voice tires neither speaker nor hearer. 

To summarize — 

Know your story; know it so thoroughly 
that it is flexible under your handling, yield- 
ing easily to the varying conditions under 
which it is told while retaining all its essen- 
tial qualities of style and of substance : 

See that your voice carries : 

Forget yourself: 

Do not hurry : 

Bring out the true essence of the tale : 

Tell it with directness of appeal to your 
immediate audience : 

Carry it to its climax : 

''Let go." 



CHAPTER V 
Use of the Story in Primary Grades 

IN the primary grades of the schools, 
stories may be told as a relaxation, as 
an incentive to learning to read, and as a 
means of enlarging the vocabulary of the 
little people and thereby giving them greater 
freedom of self-expression. In the more ad- 
vanced grades the story is used to awaken 
interest in new subjects, to fix the essentials 
of a lesson, and to cultivate a taste for the 
best in literature. But in all the grades, as 
well as in the home, it may be made the 
means of carrying home a lesson or of clinch- 
ing a truth. 

The use of the story in the primary grades 
coincides in some degree with its use in the 
home, but it goes much further. The old 
method of primary teaching whereby a child 
was made by laborious exercises to learn to 
read in order that he might be able in later 
years to enjoy the treasures of literature, has 
undergone a radical and healthful change. 

41 



42 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Under the former method, the child, through 
the barrenness of his labor, was often dis- 
couraged in his attempt to master reading, 
and he had but a dim idea at best of the 
benefit which was to accrue to him from 
learning. 

Under present methods, the child, before 
he is given any of the laborious drill work — 
which is as essential as ever to his learning 
to read for himself — is told stories, is led 
into the beautiful realms of literature, and is 
made to realize what is in store for him when 
he has mastered the technical difficulties of 
reading. After that, the drills and the oral 
stories are carried on together, and the 
stories form a tempting incentive to hard 
work upon the drills. Children are willing 
to work, and to work hard, if they see a 
desirable object to be attained. 

The primary teacher who makes judicious 
use of stories in her class room lays hold 
upon one of the most efficient aids to suc- 
cessful work. But when a story has been 
told to the children, it has but half served 
its purpose. If it was worth telling, it is 
worth remembering; and there is no means 
by which the story may be so thoroughly 



USE OF THE STORY 43 

impressed upon the child's mind as by his 
telling it himself. 

The first advantage gained lies in the fact 
that if the child knows that he is likely to 
be called upon to re-tell the story, he will 
listen more intently, more acutely. This in 
itself helps him, because he learns to be 
attentive, and to concentrate his thoughts. 
When he tries to re-tell the story, if he 
has not grasped the essentials or cannot 
follow the sequence, then he will have to listen 
again — more carefully, this time — and he 
will have shown wherein he needs help. 

With very young children, it is a good 
plan to talk the story over, after it has been 
told, bringing out the essential facts, and so 
forming a framework or outline upon which 
the child can more readily rebuild the story. 

Th« opportunity which the reproduction of 
a story affords of helping the child to express 
himself in clear, correct English, and to 
enlarge his vocabulary, is of exceptional 
value. At the same time his absorption in 
the story itself overcomes his timidity or self- 
consciousness to a wonderful degree, and 
often arouses a child from a dull lethargy 
of indifference. 



44 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Again, no reading lesson will admit of the 
freedom of expression in face, tone, and gen- 
eral attitude which the telling of a story 
permits. Why? Because the child enjoys it. 
It is a natural thing to him, while reading, 
in the early grades, is unnatural. 

Teachers should be careful not to let the 
children who are eager to re-tell the story, 
monopolize the time. It is those who are shy 
and backward who need the exercise most. 
The eager ones may lead the way, but the 
shy ones should be encouraged to follow. 

Dramatization goes a step farther than 
reproduction. The dramatizing or playing of 
a story makes it take on life and reality for 
the child. When he hears a story read or 
told he forms a mental picture which is more 
or less hazy and easily dispelled. When he 
has for himself played the story, assumed 
one of the characters, and acted its part, then 
the thought of the story becomes crystallized. 
He grasps its meaning, sees its beauty, under- 
stands its truth, and remembers it. This 
intensifying of his mental pictures results in 
more expressive reading as well as in better 
language work and in greater power of self- 
expression. 



USE OF THE STORY 45 

Another distinct advantage gained through 
dramatizing is the bringing of the life of 
literature into direct contact with the child's 
life, and so causing all literature to become 
more real and vital. 

The play — for so it seems to the child — 
forms a connecting link between the home or 
play-life to which he has been accustomed, 
and the new and strange life of the school. 
It helps to banish diffidence, and to establish 
a familiar atmosphere and a spirit of fellow- 
ship with the teacher and the other pupils. 
It is also a source of pure joy to the child, 
and '* the education that brings joy along 
with careful and exact training is better than 
the kind that omits the joy." "Would that 
every teacher might remember this ! 

It need hardly be said that while drama- 
tizing in the schoolroom may be helpful and 
vitalizing when under the control of a teacher 
who recognizes its educational value, it may, 
on the other hand, become inane and even 
silly if used simply as an amusement or as 
a time-filler. 

While much of the value of dramatizing 
must depend upon the insight and oversight 
of the teacher, much also depends upon the 



46 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

selection of material. ' ' Not what may be 
dramatized, but what should be." 

If a teacher has clearly before her the 
thought of why we dramatize, then the ques- 
tion of what t(0 dramatize will be more readily 
determined. 

Stories of nature, in which the children 
represent birds, bees, flowers, the wind, the 
seasons, are all useful for the purpose. Such 
stories quicken the imagination and bring the 
child into closer relationship with outdoor 
life. 

An especially good example of a story to 
dramatize is the ''Lesson of Faith," in the 
first chapter of this book. Teachers will find 
this story especially appropriate to their 
Easter exercises. 

After the story has been told often enough 
for the children to become familiar with its 
thought and outline, let some little girl rep- 
resent the Caterpillar, and another the But- 
terfly. Have a boy represent the Lark, and 
eight or ten other children the butterfly eggs. 

Begin the dramatizing by having this last 
group of children curl themselves down qui- 
etly together, while the little girl who rep- 
resents the Caterpillar moves slowly about 



USE OF THE STORY 47 

near them. Then let the Butterfly, slowly 
moving her wings, settle beside the Cater- 
pillar and address her, telling her of the little 
eggs, and asking her to care for them. Then 
have the Butterfly droop her wings and 
become quiet, as though dead. It is best, 
then, to allow this child to resume her seat 
while the others carry on the little play. 

Next have the Caterpillar indulge in her 
soliloquy, and presently the Lark should come 
flying to her side. Then follows the dialogue 
between the two, the Lark flying away and 
returning as described in the story. 

As the Caterpillar declares that the Lark 
is making fun of her when he tells her that 
she will one day be a butterfly herself, have 
the little butterfly eggs — now caterpillars — 
begin to move about, one brushing against 
her, and let them begin to nibble as though 
eating. 

After the Caterpillar has shown her great 
surprise, have her show her great joy at 
learning that the Lark's message is true. 
Then she should go to one or two of the 
children in the seats, who represent the Cat- 
erpillar's friends, and tell them the great 
good news which she has learned. 



48 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

They are to show their unbelief of what 
she has said. 

Next have these friends come to her and 
tell her that it is time for her to form her 
chrysalis and die. 

Then the Caterpillar becomes very still, 
the little green caterpillars, meanwhile, eat- 
ing and moving about very quietly. 

As the final act of the little drama, have 
the Butterfly emerge from her chrysalis, 
spread her wings, and fly away. 

This story answers perfectly to the re- 
quirements of dramatization, and it is clearly 
not one which may be dramatized, but one 
which should be. The children who take part, 
and those who look on at the little play, will 
have their mental conception of the story, 
which was first given in words only, intensi- 
fied; made real and lasting. 

When children imitate, say, the robin or 
the crow, see that their motions accord with 
those of the bird represented — have them 
hop like the robin, or walk like the crow. 
The eagle and the swallow fly poised on out- 
stretched wing, while the humming bird's 
wings move rapidly. All these differences, 
if noted, teach the children to observe. If 



USE OF THE STORY 49 

a child makes a mistake, such as hopping 
when representing the crow, do not tell him 
what his mistake is, but have him find out 
before the next day how the crow moves when 
on the ground. This is of especial value if 
he can have an opportunity of watching a 
crow for himself, since it teaches him to 
observe closely; to use his own eyes. 

Fairy and folk tales afford excellent ma- 
terial for dramatizing, as do some of the 
familiar mythological stories. They quicken 
the child's imagination by helping him to 
understand the personification of the forces 
of nature, and this understanding is greatly 
helped if he not only hears and reads the 
stories, but plays them as well. 

The story of Midas is well adapted for 
dramatizing. Choose a boy to represent the 
avaricious king, and another boy for Bacchus, 
who bestows upon him the golden touch. 
Other children, either boys or girls, may be 
selected to typify the apple tree and the rose 
bush — moving their leaves in the breeze till 
stiffened by Midas ' touch. A little girl must, 
of course, personify Midas' little daughter. 

After all these have been turned to gold, 
Midas visits Bacchus and implores his aid 



50 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

in getting rid of the fatal power whicli has 
been given to him. Then he returns with 
joy and restores the apple tree, the rose, and, 
best of all, his own little daughter, to life. 
The details of the story will have to be 
worked out according to the version chosen, 
but the story is too well known and too 
readily found, to make it worth while to give 
it in detail here. 

The reproduction of a story also through 
constructive mediums — clay modeling, paint- 
ing, or paper cutting — helps the child to a 
physical application of the knowledge which 
he has gained, and so strengthens the impres- 
sion which has been made. 

A little further on, when lessons in nature 
study, geography, and history are about to 
be introduced, the child can be led into them 
almost unconsciously, through talks and 
stories of nature, of travel, of foreign coun- 
tries, and of biography and history. Under 
this method of teaching, children are made 
to realize that history is a narrative of real 
events, directed by people who did great 
things, great enough for the whole country 
or the whole world to be interested in, and 
the men of history become heroes of flesh 
and blood ; geography steps out from between 



USE OF THE STORY 51 

the covers of a book and becomes a multi- 
plied home, the home of many people and 
of many races, each home possessing charac- 
teristics which interest and appeal to the 
child; nature study becomes an introduction 
to new friends clothed in feathers and fur. 

When stories are reproduced in the school 
room the work should not be undertaken as 
a formal language drill. The story should be 
left to make its appeal to the childish imagi- 
nation and should then be expressed in his 
own words. Let the exact drill upon words 
be done with sentences which are designed 
for that purpose, but let the reproduction of 
any story which is worthy of a place in lit- 
erature be a spontaneous expression upon the 
part of the child, so that the life and beauty 
of the story may be preserved to him. A 
story loses its grace and its ethical value 
when hammered into a rigid form of words. 
Word drill is right and proper in its place, 
but the reproduction of a worth-while story 
demands that the thought be kept living and 
active, and the form of expression free. 



CHAPTEE VI 
Jingles, Fables, and Folk-Lore 

THE first stories told to a child are almost 
invariably the Mother Goose rhymes 
and jingles, beginning perhaps with: 

Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man! 

So I will, master, as fast as I can: 

Pat it, and prick it, and mark it with T, 

And toss in tlxe oven for Tommy and me. 

Or this, from the Chinese Mother Goose 
(Fleming H. Eevell Company) : 

Pat, pat, 

A swallow's nest we'll make, 
And if we pat some money out 

We'll buy ourselves a cake. 

These are usually accompanied by appro- 
priate finger plays. 

Can we give a tangible reason for this 
choice? Why do all mothers turn to them 
with unwavering fidelity? Why do all chil- 
dren love them? 

There can be but one answer. Before a 
child is able to follow the thread of the sim- 

52 . 



JINGLES, FABLES, FOLK-LORE 53 

plest story, lie can enjoy the musical cadence 
of these rhymes. There is rhythm in their 
measure, an allurement of sound in their 
words and phrases which pleases his ear and 
satisfies his senses long before their words 
carry any intelligent thought to his mind. 

Why are * ' memory gems ' ' taught in the 
primary grades of the schools 1 The children 
understand but little of their true beauty of 
thought, but the cadence of the lines fixes 
them in the memory, and the deeper meaning 
comes with later years. 

It is because this is so, because the chil- 
dren love musical cadence before they under- 
stand words, that mothers can follow or 
mingle the Mother Goose melodies with more 
modern verses such as those of Field or 
Stevenson. The little child will love such 
lines as these, by Henry van Dyke : 

I guess the pussy-willows now 
Are creeping out on every bougli 

Along the brook; and robins look 
For early worms behind the plough. 

Or the introduction to "The Fountain," in 
James Russell Lowell's Poems (Houghton, 
Mifflin Company) : 



54 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Into the sunshine, 

Full of the light, 
Leaping and flashing 

From morn till night. 

Into the moonlight, 
^ Whiter than snow. 

Waving so flower-like 
When the winds blow. 

Into the star-light 

Rushing in spray, 
Happy at midnight, 

Happy by day. 

The true poetry of these lines will not 
appeal to him in the beginning, but the 
cadence of the lines will, and they will become 
fixed in his mind. The beauty of the poems 
will be his in later years. 

As soon as a child is old enough to follow 
the thread of a simple story, fables and folk- 
lore will lead him into the realm of the 
world's earliest literature. These are the 
stories which delighted the race in its child- 
hood, and they have delighted childhood in 
all succeeding generations. These old fables 
are so familiar that they are incorporated 
into our everyday conversation. How often 
do we refer to ' ' The Hare and the Tortoise, ' ' 
to the ' ' Dog in the Manger, " or to ' * The 
Goose That Laid the Golden Egg?" How 



JINGLES, FABLES, FOLK-LORE 55 

frequently do we illustrate a point by a ref- 
erence to '* Sour Grapes," or to '' A Wolf in 
Sheep's Clothing'? " Yet probably not one 
in twenty knows that all these familiar illus- 
trations find their origin in the fables of 
Aesop or La Fontaine. 

These old classic fables are a part of the 
literature ' ' which the world has chosen to 
remember." They have become a part of the 
literary coin of the realm. In his introduc- 
tion to Aesop's Fables, Joseph Jacobs says: 
* ' In their grotesque grace, in their quaint 
humor, in their trust in the simpler virtues, 
in their insight into the cruder vices, in their 
innocence of the fact of sex, Aesop's Fables 
are as little children." As an example: 

It happened that a fisher, after fishing all day, caught 
only a little fish. " Pray, let me go, master," said the 
fish. " I am much too small for your eating just now. 
If you put me back into the river I shall soon grow, 
then you can make a fine meal off me." 

" Nay, nay, my little fish," said the fisher, " I have 
you now. I may not catch you hereafter." 

It has been well said that the fables are 
the child's best introduction to the study of 
human nature. They are ''an interpretation 
of life. ' ' That animals are made to talk, and 
to exhibit human traits, only adds to the 



56 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

cliarm of the story without lessening its 
ethical value. The child applies to all nature 
his own standard of ethics. 

The child's ability to understand is far in 
advance of his ability to read, and the old 
folk-tales which have been handed down 
orally from generation to generation, and 
later gathered into volumes for the children 
of all nations to enjoy together, are a verita- 
ble mine of delight to both story-teller and 
listener. 

Folk tales and fairy tales are so interwoven 
that it is difficult to separate them. That 
some of both are open to criticism is con- 
ceded, but with such abundance of supply 
there is no need of telling a story which 
presents even a doubt as to its value. 

In her introduction to ** The Story Hour," 
Kate Douglas Wiggin says : ' ' Some univer- 
sal spiritual truth underlies the really fine 
old fairy tale; but there can be no educa- 
tional influence in the so-called fairy stories, 
which are merely jumbles of impossible inci- 
dents, and which not infrequently present 
dishonesty, deceit, and cruelty in attractive 
or amusing guise." Here we have the true 
test which anyone may apply : an underlying 



JINGLES, FABLES, FOLK-LORE 57 

' ' universal spiritual truth. ' ' Does our story 
contain such? 

Two very familiar nursery tales which owe 
their origin to the folk-lore of old — namely, 
' ' Jack, the Giant Killer, ' ' and ' ' Cinderella ' ' 
— have recently been brought into question 
upon the ground of their moral teaching. 
The critics in question look upon Jack as a 
thief and a murderer, who ' ' lived happily 
ever after ' ' upon his ill-gotten gains. For 
my own part, I find less to condemn in Jack's 
treatment of the Giant, than in making a 
hero of a boy who was lazy and disobedient. 
The Giant had robbed and killed Jack's 
father, and he was wicked and cruel to all, 
and Jack could scarcely be blamed for trying 
to regain his father's stolen wealth, or for 
cutting down the bean-stalk when the Giant 
was descending for the purpose of killing 
him and, in all probability, his mother. But 
the false note in the story, to my mind, lies 
in selecting a boy who was avowedly lazy, 
idle, disobedient, and neglectful of his mother, 
for the hero of a tale of such marvelous 
deeds. The tale of Jack, the Giant Killer, 
however, has many versions, and there is no 
need whatever, when telling the story, of giv- 



58 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

ing to Jack any of these undesirable traits. 
Bather, picture him as a boy capable of per- 
forming heroic deeds. The change is easily 
made. 

On the other hand, I would champion the 
story of '* Cinderella." The recent criticism 
brought against this story is that it leads 
boys and girls to believe that all step-mothers 
are cruel. I do not think so. The stories 
of *' The Babes in the Woods," and of *' The 
Princes in the Tower," do not teach that all 
uncles are cruel. Of course the fact that 
Cinderella's step-mother was a s^ep-mother 
might be so emphasized in the telling as to 
give this impression, but it is not emphasized 
in the story — not, at least, in most of the 
versions which I have read. Selfishness and 
pride are set forth in the half-sisters in all 
their unattractiveness ; while Cinderella's 
final triumph serves as a means of showing 
her gentle and forgiving nature. These are 
the points to be brought out in the story-tell- 
ing, and it would seem to me to be an unjusti- 
fiable robbery to take the story of Cinderella 
from the child's early store of fairy tales. 
What a thrill of exquisite delight is felt 
by the child when the magic of the god- 



JINGLES, FABLES, FOLK-LORE 59 

mother's wand turns Cinderella's rags into 
the robe of a princess and she is whirled 
away in her golden chariot to meet the prince. 
It is a story of goodness rewarded and of evil 
punished, but all in such a magical and won- 
derful way ! I can feel the early thrill of it 
yet — and so can you. 

There are different versions of both these 
stories, and it is not a difficult matter to tell 
either one in such a way as to do away with 
all objectionable features. As was shown in 
a previous chapter, much of the impression 
which a story leaves is due to the manner of 
its telling. The story of Cinderella certainly 
contains the ' ' underlying universal, spiritual 
truth," and so answers to the test of a truly 
" fine old fairy tale." 

American story tellers should not go far 
afield for their tales of folk lore, and overlook 
the two distinctive sources afforded by our 
own country. The stories of the North Ameri- 
can Indian, told by camp fire or in tepee, are 
full of poetic imagery, of symbolic truth, and 
of heroic valor. They form the original 
legendary lore of our land, and they should be 
told to the children, preparing them for a 
later reading of the poets and authors who 



6o THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

have shown us the picturesque as well as the 
tragic side of the history of the Red Man. 

The other American source of folk lore 
tales is found in the south, and is typified at 
its best in ''Uncle Remus," though not con- 
fined to him. As has been said, the dialect 
story is difficult for a child to read, and Uncle 
Remus is undoubtedly most thoroughly ap- 
preciated by children of a larger growth. But 
no child can resist the drollery or the rollick- 
ing fun of the true darkey story when it is 
told to him. 

The following story of ' ' Ithenthiela " 
which closes this chapter is a good example 
of the folk lore tales of the Indian. Only a 
portion of the original story is here given, 
but it is to be found, with other good stories 
for telling, in Tales of the Red Children, by 
Abbie F. Brown, and James M. Bell (D. 
Appleton and Company). 

" The Story of Ithenthiela " * 

Many years ago there was a brave Indian 
boy named Ithenthiela, the Caribou-Footed, 
who lived far away in the great northwest. 

One day, as Ithenthiela went through the 

* Adapted for telling. By permission of the publishers. 



JINGLES, FABLES, FOLK-LORE 6i 

woods, lie saw a squirrel in the branches of 
a tall red spruce tree, and, raising his bow, 
he shot an arrow at it. Down fell the squir- 
rel, but the arrow lodged in the branches. 

Then Ithenthiela started to climb after the 
arrow, but he had not climbed far when he 
heard a great pack of wolves howling at the 
foot of the tree. So he climbed higher, and 
as he mounted, the arrow went up, too. 

Up, up, it went, until at last it came to the 
sky itself. The arrow passed through the 
thin blue, and Ithenthiela wriggled after it. 

Great was Ithenthiela 's surprise when he 
entered the Sky Country ; it was so different 
from what he had expected. He had imag- 
ined a glorious country where the sun always 
shone, and where huge herds of musk-oxen, 
caribou, and moose roamed at large. He had 
expected to find many of his own people 
camped in wigwams here and there, prepar- 
ing to fight with other tribes. But instead, 
the air was damp, dreary, and cold ; no trees 
or flowers grew ; no herds of animals ran on 
the silent plains; the smoke of no wigwam 
greeted his anxious eyes; no war-whoop or 
hunting cry was heard. But far in the dis- 
tance against the sky shimmered a great 



62 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

white mass, like a pile of snow wlien the sun 
shines upon it in the early summer. Toward 
this great white wonder ran a winding path 
from the very spot where Ithenthiela stood. 

' ' I will follow it, ' ' thought he, ' * and see 
what I find in that shining wigwam over 
there." 

As he passed along he met an old woman 
who said to him : * ' Who are you, and where 
are you going?" 

"I have come from far," said Ithenthiela. 
*' I am the Caribou-Footed. Can you tell me 
who lives over there in that big white wig- 
wam?" 

'*Ah," said Capoteka — for that was the 
old woman's name — ''I know you, Ithen- 
thiela! Long have I known that sometime 
you would come here. But you have done 
wrong; this is no country for man. In that 
great wigwam over there lives Itakempka; 
and he is unhappy because he has lost his 
great medicine belt. Until he gets it again, 
no one will be happy in the Sky Country. 
The belt is at the tepee of the two blind 
women who live far beyond the wigwam 
which shines so white, and no one has been 
able to get it from them. But whoever cap- 



JINGLES, FABLES, FOLK-LORE 63 

tures it, and takes it from the blind women, 
will have the daughter of Itakempka, the 
beautiful Etanda, for his wife." 

At these words oif started Ithenthiela, and, 
traveling hard, he soon came to a tepee which 
stood alone; the home of the two old blind 
women. 

Dull and gloomy was the covering of the 
wigwam ; but from the tiny hole in the smoke- 
begrimed moose skins came a strange, bright 
light at which Ithenthiela marveled. 

But when he entered he saw what it was 
that gave the mysterious light. It came from 
the great medicine belt which hung upon the 
wall, and surrounding the belt were the skulls 
of many men. 

The belt was studded with gems. From 
great rubies sparkled the rays of crimson; 
from huge amethysts shone streams of pur- 
ple ; from mighty sapphires came the deepest 
blue, and gorgeous emeralds shot rays of 
green; while great cairngorms scintillated 
with yellow glow. The lights changed from 
blood-red to purple, from purple to blue, from 
blue to green, from green to yellow, and ever 
and anon faded altogether, to be succeeded by 
the mixed rainbow of color from fair opals 



64 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

or by tlie pure white light of great diamonds. 
This was the magic belt of Itakempka. 

The blind women bade Ithenthiela welcome 
and said to him : 

'' Tell us, Ithenthiela, when you are about 
to leave, so that we may bid you good-]jy." 

Now, Ithenthiela had noticed that each of 
the old women had behind her back a knife of 
copper, long and sharp and gleaming; and 
that one sat on either side of the door, wait- 
ing. 

"Ah!" thought he, ''when I leave they 
mean to kill me. But, I shall fool them.'' 

In one part of the wigwam lay a muska- 
moot, or bag, of bones and feathers. To this 
he tied a string, which he pulled over the 
pole above the door. Then, said he : 

' ' I am going now, Blind Women. Eemem- 
ber that I am old and fat, and when I leave I 
make much noise." 

With this he pulled the string, whereat the 
bag of bones and feathers trundled toward 
the door. Immediately the two old hags 
stabbed; but striking only feathers, the long 
knife of each passed through the bag into 
the body of the other, and both were killed. 

Then Ithenthiela took the precious belt 



JINGLES, FABLES, FOLK-LORE 65 

and hastened witli all speed toward the wig- 
wam of Itakempka. As he neared the great 
Chief's home he heard no sound of man or 
beast. Entering, he saw that all the camp 
was sleeping. Around the long-cold fire lay 
the warriors and maidens, the old men and 
women, and in their midst the tall Chief, 
decked with faded plumes. 

Then for the first time, Ithenthiela drew 
from beneath his leathern shirt the belt of 
medicine. Around the wigwam flashed the 
rays of red, purple, green, and gold. In- 
stantly the warriors and maidens, the old men 
and women, awoke. Up rose the Chief, fine 
and stately among them, as the color came 
back to his gorgeous headdress, and as the 
fire on the hearth sparkled into life. 

Then said Ithenthiela : ' ' Great Chief, be 
you happy now. I have brought you back 
your healing belt, the band of life, of hope, 
of war, and of peace. Henceforth it shall 
abide here in its true place with you." 

Then said Itakempka: ^' Greatly I rejoice, 
Ithenthiela! You have saved my people. 
Now shall the sun shine again. Now shall 
musk-oxen, caribou, moose, and bears live 
once more in our country. Again shall we see 



66 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

the smoke of many wigwams. Once more shall 
we hear the voice of many hunters, and ever 
and anon the war-whoop of the warriors. 
You have wakened us from our long winter 
sleep. Take you now my daughter, the fair 
Etanda, for your wife. But leave me not. 
You shall stay with me,^ and be a great chief 
after me." So Ithenthiela remained in the 
shining white home of Itakempka. 

And still the Red Children in the distant 
northern lands tell of Ithenthiela when the 
northern lights flit across the sky. 

*'Ah!" they cry, with their faces bowed 
before that splendid light, which is to them 
the most mysterious thing of nature. " See 
the fingers of Ithenthiela are beckoning us 
to the home which he found for us beyond 
the sky." 



CHAPTER VII 
Myth and Hero Tale 

THE world is a wonder-palace to the child. 
' ' Everything hints at something more 
magical and more marvelous which is to 
come. ' ' The inanimate objects about him are 
given living attributes; animals and flowers 
are endowed by his fancy with human 
thought and feeling. He talks to the clouds 
and the stars; he peoples the sky with liv- 
ing inhabitants; to him the winds are not 
' ' forces of nature ' ' ; they are boisterous com- 
panions or gentle friends. 

This applies to the imaginative child, and 
there are more imaginative children than the 
most of us suspect. The imagination may 
be suppressed by older and ''wiser" com- 
panions, or natural shyness may cause the 
imaginative fancies to remain unvoiced; but 
the fancies are there — bubbling over in fan- 
tastic follies or childish imagery, or kept in 
those hidden chambers of the soul to which 
grown-ups are forbidden entrance. 

67 



68 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Because of this mental attitude, children 
are inherent myth-makers. And to the same 
mental attitude upon the part of the children 
of the race, is due the fund of mythological 
lore which has enriched the world's literature 
and inspired much of its art. 

To this rich store, then, the child may be 
introduced by means of mythological stories. 
Their appeal is strong because they are in 
harmony with his own spontaneous interests. 
Froebel says : * * Would 'st thou know how to 
teach the child? Observe him, and he will 
show you what to do." If, then, the child so 
loves the myth, let us hold him and help him 
by means of the mythological story. Those 
which contain an objectionable element may 
readily be withheld; there are plenty which 
are beautiful in their form and true in their 
teaching. 

The myth, strictly speaking, differs from 
the fairy story in that it personifies the forces 
and manifestations of nature : Aurora awak- 
ening the sleeping world with her shafts of 
light; Ceres presiding over the harvests of 
golden grain ; Jove hurling the dreadful thun- 
derbolts ; and Narcissus living in the beauti- 
ful blossom which bears his name. 



MYTH AND HERO TALE 69 

Few children will accept these stories as 
absolute statements of fact, nor need they be 
so presented. Whatever this personification 
of the universal elements may have meant to 
the ancient Greeks, to us it is purely imag- 
inary; it is the fairy-land of nature. Chil- 
dren love to ' * make believe, ' ' and their own 
personifications of the forces of nature, 
while spontaneous and vivid, are a part of 
their imaginative world — a part of their 
** make believe." So, mythological stories are 
never accepted by them upon the literal plane 
of the true nature story, nor should they ever 
be so presented. When stories of the ancient 
gods and goddesses are told, they may be 
very briefly outlined as the imaginative sto- 
ries of an ancient race. This will give them 
their true place, without in the least detract- 
ing from their charm. 

The child who is made familiar with the old 
mythology by means of stories and verse, 
holds the key of understanding to the count- 
less allusions of the world's best literature. 
He may not comprehend the deeper meaning, 
nor understand that they were the religion of 
an ancient people, but when in his later read- 
ing of some masterpiece of poetry or prose he 



70 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

finds an allusion to Phaeton, to Apollo, or to 
Neptune, lie will experience the same delight 
that conies to one who meets an old play- 
fellow in a foreign land. 

The Hero-Tale 

As the child creates a world of fancy and, 
when left to himself, lives within it, so mar- 
velous deeds and achievements are to him as 
the daily breath of our own lives. He im- 
agines himself the hero of such wonderful 
and impossible adventures that when he is 
told of Phaeton and his mad ride, he ac- 
cepts it with the same calm appreciation 
which is accorded the imaginings of his own 
creative moods. The slaying of the Gorgon 
is fully in harmony with his own future plans. 
Not that he believes in these hero tales lit- 
erally, or comprehends their deeper signif- 
icance, but they fit in so perfectly with his 
normal habit of creative fancy that they seem 
to him as his very own, and he loves them. 

The hero-tale appeals as strongly to the 
child as does the myth — probably more 
strongly to the boy. Indeed, the myth and 
hero-tale are often one, for Greek and Norse 
mythology abound in heroes and heroic ad- 



MYTH AND HERO TALE 71 

ventures, and the lad who pores breathlessly 
over the thrilling experiences of a Captain 
Kidd, would find equal delight in the story 
of the Wooden Horse and the Fall of Troy, 
were it told him in a manner suited to his 
age and understanding. 

The story of Arion, returning victorious 
from the great musical contest, and threat- 
ened by the mutinous seamen of his vessel, 
stirs any boy to enthusiasm, as do the ad- 
ventures of Perseus, who, helped by Minerva 
and Mercury, slew the Gorgon, Medusa. 

In another field there are the merry tales 
of Eobin Hood, the outlaw beloved of boys, 
with his host of adventurous followers; and 
the chivalrous deeds of King Arthur and his 
Knights of the Eound Table. Stories of the 
knights appeal to universal boyhood. Well 
do I remember a story hour in which the com- 
pact body of the audience was fringed all 
about with boys under whose arms were shoe- 
blacking kits, or bundles of newspapers. 
They dodged in for a story, and out again 
for a customer, but with one voice they de- 
manded — it was not a request — " Give us a 
knight story ! Give us a knight story ! ' ' 

Boys can be kept from reading worthless 



72 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

fiction if books and stories of tlie rigM sort 
are placed in their hands, and the surest 
way to make these attractive is to give them 
the contents or a part of the contents in story 
form first. Make the stories vivid, give them 
plenty of life and action, and Captain Kidd 
or Bunco Bill will pale before King Arthur 
and Ulysses. 

The younger children will listen with great- 
est delight to stories of imaginary heroes, 
such as abound in folk-lore and myth — Jack 
the Giant Killer easily leading in favor, as 
has been proven by statistics. 

Children demand definite aims, swift ac- 
tion, prompt reward of the good, and punish- 
ment of the evil. They do not understand 
complex motives nor the slow working out of 
nature's retribution. This comes with later 
years. The story-teller must choose her sub- 
jects in accordance with the age of the child. 
The world of fancy gradually gives way be- 
fore the world of fact, and there comes a 
time when the heroes of the myth and the 
fairy tale are received with a certain degree 
of scorn. They are * ^ out-grown. ' ' At this 
period the boy and girl demand heroes of 
flesh and blood: men who *' do and dare'* 



MYTH AND HERO TALE 73 

especially appeal to them. There must still 
be rapid action and swift retribution or re- 
ward, but motives begin to be understood 
more fully, and little by little these motives 
begin to be less self -centered ; they touch an 
ever-broadening circle. 

To follow this circle and select stories 
which fit its circumference should be the aim 
of mother and teacher. Here, as everywhere 
in teaching, the ' ' spontaneous interests ' ' 
furnish the key for selection. 

The range of hero-tales is wide. Among 
them are the mythological and folk-lore tales 
previously suggested; the legendary hero- 
tales which are partly fact and partly fancy, 
such as the Knights of the Round Table, 
Robin Hood, and most of the medieval sto- 
ries; and Bible stories, among which there 
are a host of heroic characters, whose 
moral heroism should be made the dominant 
note. 

There are also the heroes who have trav- 
eled, explored, and dared in the interests of 
science, and those who have endured hard- 
ship and privation in order to carry civiliza- 
tion to the dark corners of the globe. There 
are heroes also, often unknown, who risk 



74 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

their lives almost daily to carry on the me- 
chanical processes of modern civilization. 
Any of these will form the nucleus of sto- 
ries of thrilling interest to the growing boy 
and girl. Let the motive for the heroic deed 
be felt throughout the story. Do not tack 
it on as a moral; let it permeate the whole 
narrative. It has been truly said that '^ To 
add a moral application to a story is as com- 
plete a confession of failure as to append an 
explanation to a joke.'* 

The material for hero-tales lies all about 
us — upon the pages of the newspaper and 
the magazine, as well as between the covers 
of the Iliad and the Odyssey. 

Give the boy and girl stories ' ' clean in 
the warp and woof ' ' ; stories of brave, noble 
men and women, worthy of emulation, for 
*' with the great, one's thoughts and manners 
easily become great. ' ' 

The following story of '' The Coming of 
Arthur " from Some Great Stories and How 
to Tell Them (Newson and Company), by 
Eichard Thomas Wyche, founder of The 
Story-Tellers' League, is one of the best ex- 
amples known to the author of the sort of 
hero or knight story which all boys love, and 



MYTH AND HERO TALE 75 

which will lead them into the realms of the 
best and purest literature. 

The Coming of Arthur* 

One dark stormy night a long time ago, in 
a land beyond the seas, old King Uther lay 
upon his bed dying. He was weeping and 
lamenting, not so much because he was leav- 
ing this world, as because he had no son or 
daughter to come after him and rule England. 
There were two old men who stood near the 
king, whose names were Bleys and Merlin. 
When they saw that their king was silent in 
death, they passed out into the black night 
and walked down toward the ocean where the 
great waves came rolling in from the deep. 

The night was stormy, and they noticed 
that the waves grew larger and larger. They 
counted them — one, two, three, up to the 
ninth — which seemed to gather half the sea. 
Suddenly, on the highest crest of this wave, 
they saw a shining ship in the form of a dra- 
gon, and all from stem to stern the deck was 
covered with shining people. No sooner had 
they seen the ship than it disappeared. But 
nevertheless this great wave came rolling in 

* By permission of the author, and publishers. 



76 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

and tumbled at their feet. Strange to say 
ont of this wave there rolled a little naked 
child, and Merlin picked it np and cried, 
* * The King ! The King ! An heir for Uther ! ' ' 
Then the long wave swept up the beach, 
wrapped about the old man and flashed like 
fire. After which there was a calm, and the 
stars came out, and the elves and fairies blew 
their horns from cliff to cliff. 

Merlin gave the little child to an old woman 
to nurse. He was given the name of Arthur, 
and as the years passed by he grew into a 
beautiful boy with blue eyes and golden hair. 
Merlin, who was a very wise old man, be- 
came the boy's teacher. 

But let me tell you a story about the boy. 
One day, as Arthur was walking out all alone 
in the sunny fields, he came upon a little girl 
sitting upon a bank of heath, weeping as if 
her heart would break, and saying : ' * I hate 
this fair world and all that 's in it." She had 
been beaten for a fault of which she was not 
guilty. When she looked up there stood the 
boy, Arthur. "Whether he could walk unseen 
like his old teacher Merlin, who was some- 
thing of a wizard, she did not know, but there 
he stood smiling at her. He dried her tears. 



MYTH AND HERO TALE 77 

comforted her heart, and was a child with 
her. But one day after that when she saw 
him again he was so dignified and cold she 
was afraid of him. But again when she saw 
him his ways were sweet and they played as 
children together. They were golden hours 
for her and for him. She said then, ^' Some 
day he will be King." 

As Arthur grew into manhood he wanted 
a sword, as all boys did in those days. One 
summer day he was in his boat on the lake. 
All around him spread the shining water, 
above him bent the sky, soft and blue. He 
moved to the center of the lake and stopped. 
It was noon, and he sat thinking. Perhaps 
he was wondering what he would do when 
he became a man. Suddenly he heard the 
water ripple, and near by he saw, rising from 
the lake a white arm and hand holding a 
sword. Arthur reached out and took the 
sword and then the hand disappeared. 

The hilt of the sword was in the shape of 
a cross, studded with jewels that sparkled 
and flashed. He pulled it from the scabbard 
and the blade was so bright that it hurt his 
eye to look at it. On one side of the blade 
he saw cut in the steel in the oldest language 



78 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

of all the world, the words, '' Take me," but 
on the other side, in the language of the 
people, '' Cast me away." It made him sad 
to think he must cast it away. He took it to 
his old teacher Merlin, who was then a hun- 
dred winters old. Merlin said : '* ' Take me * 
means that you must take the sword, clear 
the forest, let in the light and make broad 
pathways for the hunter and the knight; 
break up the robber bands and bandit holds ; 
drive back the heathen that come swarming 
over the seas, burning the houses and killing 
the people." Then he whispered into 
Arthur's ear and said : ' ' Some day you may 
be king. After you have ruled the land and 
made it better, the time will come when you 
may cast the sword away, but that is a long 
way off. ' ' 

The years passed. Not since the dark 
stormy night on which King Uther died had 
there been a strong ruler in England. The 
people fought among themselves. The 
heathen came swarming over the seas; the 
wild animals came from the woods and car- 
ried off the children. The land was going to 
ruin. One day the people came together and 
said: "We must make one man king." 



MYTH AND HERO TALE 79 

Whom do you suppose they crowned? Mer- 
lin, with his knowledge and power, had 
Arthur lifted up and put on the throne. Many 
believed he was the rightful king, but others 
said : ' ' Away with him, he is no king of 
ours, he is base-born." But then Arthur 
spoke to the people in the hall, and asked all 
the young men who would help him rule the 
land to come forward. Many heard his manly 
voice and came and stood before him. He said 
to them : ' ' Will you speak the truth ; be 
pure; right the wrong; be strong, yet gen- 
tle ; be true in love ; obey the king and your 
conscience ? " When they said ''yes," they 
kneeled before him, and he made them his 
knights. When they arose from the knight- 
ing, he spoke to them in a low deep voice of 
authority and told them that he wished to 
make a good king, and that he wanted them 
to rule the land and make the world better, 
and the people happier. 

While he stood speaking to them, for a mo- 
ment every man seemed to favor the king; 
their faces were radiant. Then suddenly 
three rays of light fell as if from heaven, 
and lit up the faces of three tall queens, 
who stood near the throne to help the king 



8o THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

at his need. Near him stood his old teacher 
Merlin, and the Lady of the Lake who, it 
was said, made and gave him Excalibur, the 
wonderful sword. After that, other young- 
men came and took the vows of knighthood, 
until there were hundreds of knights. They 
were called Knights of the Eound Table. 

Then King Arthur went against the 
heathen, and in twelve great battles drove 
the last one from the country. One day, as 
he was passing with his army through the 
streets of a village, he saw, standing by a 
castle wall, a beautiful young woman. He 
did not know her, nor did she know him ; for 
Arthur was clad simply as one of his knights, 
and not in his kingly robes. Arthur could 
not forget the face. He was in love with the 
young woman, and wanted to make her his 
wife and queen. When he returned to his 
palace, he called Sir Bedivere and two other 
knights, and sent them to search for the 
young woman. 

The young woman's name was Guinevere, 
called the pearl of beauty, and her father was 
an old king, Leodogran, King of Camelaird. 
When the knights stood before him, and said, 
''King Arthur wishes Guinevere to be his 



MYTH AND HERO TALE 81 

wife and queen," the old man spoke roughly 
to them, and said, ' ' Who is Arthur, that I 
should give my daughter in marriage to him ? 
He is base-born, and not the son of a king. 
Even though he has helped me in battle, how 
can I, being a king, give my daughter in 
marriage to a man that is not a king, or the 
son of a king? " 

When Leodogran was persuaded to make 
further inquiries, and heard of Arthur's 
birth and boyhood, of the wonderful sword 
Excalibur, of the three rays of light at his 
coronation, and of his pure life and great 
deeds, he still doubted. 

He sat upon his seat and actually nodded, 
napped, and kept the knights waiting. But 
while he napped, he dreamed, and in his dream 
saw a great battlefield starting at his feet 
and sloping away as far as the eye could 
reach. On this field armies were passing and 
moving. Arthur, the newly crowned king, 
with his army, was victorious and glorious. 
When Leodogran woke up, he called the 
knights and said : ' ' Yes, Guinevere, my 
daughter, may go." 

Some time after that. King Arthur called 
Sir Lancelot, his best knight and warrior, 



82 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

and sent him to bring the Queen-to-be to his 
palace. Sir Lancelot and the other knights 
with him rode away on horseback, while King 
Arthur stood and watched them from the 
gates as they disappeared. Guinevere was 
ready and came with Sir Lancelot. It was 
the first of May, when the earth was white 
with hyacinths. The woods were all abloom 
and seemed full of singing birds. Guinevere 
rode on horseback by Sir Lancelot. Each 
day couriers went before and pitched a tent 
where the Queen-to-be might rest at noon. 
The journey was soon at an end. Sir Lance- 
lot had entertained Guinevere with talk of 
the tourney, the chase, the hunt, and of King- 
Arthur and his noble deeds. Sir Lancelot 
was so strong, yet gentle and tender, that 
she could not help but like him, and love him. 
When King Arthur came out to meet her, clad 
in his kingly robes, he seemed so tall and dig- 
nified that she felt a little afraid of him. But 
she knew that she was to be his wife and 
queen. Straightway they went to the church, 
and there before the highest of altar shrines, 
the bishop made them man and wife, and 
blessed them. Then as they went from the 
church King Arthur's Knights, clad in stain- 



MYTH AND HERO TALE 83 

less white, marclied before him with trum- 
pets and a song: 

Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May! 
Blow trumpet, the long night hath rolled away! 
Blow thro' the living world, " Let the King reign! " 

And that was the coming of King Arthur. 



CHAPTER Vni 
Holiday and Vacation Stories 

STORIES fitted to the holiday seasons, and 
the out-door stories of vacation time are 
always a source of delight to both story- 
teller and listeners. Each holiday has its 
quota of timely stories; and by no other 
means can the spirit and the lesson of a spe- 
cial day or season be more vividly impressed 
upon a child's mind than by a well-chosen, 
well-told story. Many mothers and teach- 
ers understand this, and a still larger num- 
ber would find undreamed-of pleasure and 
resultant good in a practical test of the state- 
ment. 

The spirit of Thanksgiving may be made 
active in the child and a lasting impetus for 
good imparted through stories which are 
strong, and full of the Thanksgiving atmos- 
phere. 

The same is true of stories pertaining to 
Christmas, to New Year's, to Washington's 
and Lincoln's Birthdays, to Memorial Day, 

84, 



HOLIDAY STORIES 85 

and to all other days that are generally 
observed, and whose lessons teachers are 
expected to impress. 

In making up special day programs, if 
teachers will devote one number to a good, 
strong story, appropriate to the occasion, 
it will prove not only one of the most inter- 
esting features of the day, but the one which 
will make the most lasting impression. This 
applies to the higher grades even more em- 
phatically than to the lower grades where 
stories are more frequently told, and are, in 
consequence, less of a treat and an innova- 
tion. 

Vacation Stories 

After the first few blissful days of vaca- 
tion idleness, children of school age begin 
to grow restless, and are ready for occupation 
or entertainment. This natural desire opens 
up a useful and delightful occupation for 
teachers, or for others who are interested 
in children and capable of telling them sto- 
ries in a fascinating way. This consists of 
a series of '* story hours in the open " which 
may be arranged for the summer months. 
The work should be planned systematically, 



86 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

with a definite object in view for eacli se- 
ries, and with special regard to grouping chil- 
dren of the same approximate age. 

One series may be made up of stories of 
out-door mythology, or fairy tales dealing 
with out-door life. They may be told upon 
a lawn or in some park, with the children 
seated upon the grass in informal groups, 
and the story-teller in their midst. The out- 
door environment will give the children a 
sense of participation in the events of the 
story which cannot be gained within four 
walls. 

A park or a bit of natural woods makes 
an ideal setting for a series of Robin Hood 
tales, or for tales of chivalry. The boys 
and girls will people the woods about them 
with the characters of the story, and the tales 
they hear under such conditions will not be 
easily effaced. 

Excursions to parks, or near-by lakes, or 
woods, seem an almost necessary accompani- 
ment to stories, of the trees, the birds, the 
wild life of the floral and the animal world. 
Material for such stories is abundant. There 
are the works of John Burroughs, Olive 
Thorne Miller, Dr. Long, Kipling, Thompson- 



HOLIDAY STORIES 87 

Seton, and Charles G. D. Eoberts, with a 
host of others which any library or book store 
can furnish. 

Boys and girls will show a vital interest in 
stories of local history, if the stories are not 
thus labeled. 

The early history of the region in which 
they live, the struggles, experiences, and ad- 
ventures of the early explorers of the terri- 
tory surrounding their own home, may be 
made intensely interesting; and if the group 
of listeners can be taken to the spot which 
forms the setting of the story, the bit of 
history becomes most vital and real. 

This plan of out-door story-telling com- 
bines the benefits of the usual vacation ac- 
tivities with the legitimate good of the story 
hour as conducted in our libraries during the 
winter months. 

Stories of industry, and of the development 
of a given line of commerce or manufacture 
are full of interest for boys especially. These 
may be told in connection with the leading 
business interests of the city or community 
in which the stories are given. 

Every state, every city, affords story ma- 
terial which may be so cast as to rival the 



88 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

wonders of Aladdin's lamp. These stories 
are not, as a rule, ready-made. They require 
study, research, preparation, but the warp 
and the woof are there, ready at hand in the 
records which any state or city library holds, 
and it remains for the story-teller so to weave 
the fabric of her story that it shall attract 
the fancy and stir the imagination. It need 
not be a literary masterpiece, but it must 
have life and action ; it must tell of difficulties 
overcome, with a triumphant ending of final 
achievement. 



CHAPTEE IX 
Bible Stories 

OF ALL the stories that we may tell our 
children, first in importance are the 
stories of the Bible. During the early years, 
when the most lasting impressions are made, 
when faith is simple, when the thought of 
God's presence and love is natural, the Bible 
stories should be told over and over again. 
There should be no attempt at this time to 
interpret the stories or to bring out theo- 
logical questions. The stories should be told 
in all their original simplicity, using as far 
as possible the Bible language, which is brief, 
strong, picturesque. No possible improve- 
ment could be made over the wording of the 
Creation Story as told in the first chapter 
of Genesis and the first three verses of the 
second chapter. The children will not tire 
of its telling, and it should become as fa- 
miliar to them as are their nursery rhymes. 
The shame is upon us as fathers and mothers 
that this is so seldom the case. 

89 



go THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

The story of the flood, divided into its four 
parts, as given in the collected stories of 
this book, should be made equally familiar 
to the children. A comparison of these sto- 
ries with the Bible narrative will show that 
the original language has been retained, and 
only such detail and repetition as would con- 
fuse the little child, have been omitted. The 
literary style is unchanged. 

In these stories there is all the charm of 
the folk-tale with its simple directness of 
style, its rapid action, its repetition of words 
and phrases, such as ' ' every living thing, of 
fowl, and of cattle, and of every creeping 
thing, ' ' yet it is lifted far above the folk- tale 
by the all-pervading thought of God acting 
in righteousness. 

No Bible story is worthily told which does 
not touch the underlying truth of the beauty 
of holiness, and the folly and inevitable con- 
sequences of sin. In preparing Bible stories 
for telling, the story-teller should have al- 
ways in mind what has been called the ' ' basic 
principle of both Old and New Testaments '* 
— the perfect God desiring to restore man 
'' to holiness and true communion with Him- 
self." But this truth should be inherent in 



BIBLE STORIES 9^ 

the story, and not presented in the form of an 
appended moral. 

As to the manner of telling : a Bible story 
should be narrated with the spontaneous life 
that is accorded the telling of any other story. 
Too often, through an effort upon the part 
of the conscientious story-teller to impress 
their religious nature, to communicate to the 
child a feeling of awe, the Bible stories are 
told in a truly awful manner, and the child, 
without knowing why, learns to dread them. 
They have been made to him something un- 
real, something which he cannot understand, 
which he fears. This is the last result that 
the story-teller has desired, but it is the in- 
evitable result when sanctimoniousness is 
substituted for the ''love, joy, and gentle- 
ness ' ' which are among the fruits of the 
Spirit, and which must fashion the telling 
of the Bible stories. 

Rightly told, the Bible stories arouse in 
the child the keenest interest and the deep- 
est pleasure. What child, after hearing the 
story of Joseph — the child who dreamed 
dreams and who wore the marvelous coat of 
many colors — being sold into bondage to the 
Midianites by his brethren, will not want to 



92 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

hear ''what happened next?" And what 
story is more beautiful, more filled with won- 
ders and marvels, with love, and forgiveness, 
and moral steadfastness, than the story of 
Joseph? It is quite as fascinating as any 
tale from the Arabian Nights, and it excels 
the latter a thousand-fold in its fundamental 
value, for these Old Testament stories 
eclipse the myth and the hero-tale not only 
in their genuine interest for the child, but be- 
cause they bring him into conscious rela- 
tionship with God — the God of Abraham, 
and Isaac, and Jacob ; the God whose throne 
is for ever and ever, and the sceptre of whose 
kingdom is the sceptre of righteousness. 

It is possible here to give only the briefest 
outline of the various kinds of stories which 
one may choose from this wealth of material. 
There are the wonder stories of the creation, 
the Garden of Eden, the flood, in the first 
part of the book of Genesis ; the patriarch 
stories of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and 
Joseph, in the latter part of the same book; 
the story of Moses, and all the wonders of 
the Exodus; the stories of the prophets, of 
Joshua, Samuel, Daniel; the hero-stories of 
Samson, of David's encounter with Goliath; 



BIBLE STORIES 93 

of Gideon; the pastoral story of Euth. In 
the New Testament are the stories of Christ's 
birth, His life, with all its boyhood incidents, 
its parables, and its wonders, closing with 
His death and resurrection. The question 
is not, '' What can I tell? " but, " Which shall 
I tell?" The fund is practically inex- 
haustible. 

I have a word of caution to offer to the 
one — be she mother, Sunday School teacher, 
or story-teller, who presents Bible stories to 
children: put nothing into the stories by 
way of explanation which the Bible does not 
put there, and which will have to be recalled 
or modified when the child grows older and 
begins to ask questions, and to this end do 
not make the mistake of confounding the 
truth taught, with the literal form of its 
teaching. 

As the child grows older and begins to 
analyze, to reason, and to ask questions, then 
must the story-teller — and let us hope that 
the chief Bible story-teller may be the 
mother — be ready to guide surely and un- 
fold wisely the deeper and higher meaning 
of the stories of the Book of Books. 



CHAPTER X 
Systematic Story-Telling 

THE thought that literature is a growth; 
that it had its infancy, and its periods 
of development through succeeding ages; 
that the different periods are related to each 
other and spring from one another, is too 
often ignored in the study and in the teach- 
ing of the subject. 

Not only the average child, but the great 
majority of children — if not of adults — look 
upon literature as a great heap of miscellany ; 
a vast array of unrelated writings. Pew 
grasp the idea that ' ' literature is the evolu- 
tion of the thought of humanity ' ' ; that it 
had its beginning in the myth-making ages, 
was further developed by the Greeks and 
then by the Latin races ; that after the time 
of Christ there was the distinctive literature 
of the chivalric period, followed by the de- 
velopment of Chaucer's time, of Shake- 
speare's, up to and including that of the pres- 
ent age. Each of these periods has its many 

94 



SYSTEMATIC STORY-TELLING 95 

subdivisions, but each is the outgrowth of the 
preceding. 

The story-teller who has grasped even the 
simplest outlines of literary development will 
be able to present to the children a sequence 
of stories which shall, dimly at first, but more 
and more clearly as time goes on, enable them 
to look at the literature of the world as a 
related whole. This is, of course, the privi- 
lege only of the mother, or of the teacher who 
is in daily contact with the same pupils for 
an extended length of time. It cannot be 
done by the occasional story-teller. 

As ocular demonstration produces the most 
lasting impression, the best method of fix- 
ing this idea of development is by means of 
diagrams made up in the simplest manner 
possible. If no blackboard is available, a 
paper chain will answer the purpose, its few, 
large links representing the literary periods. 
Suggestions for diagrams or charts suited 
to all grades, and to children of all ages, are 
given in Miss M. E. Burt's concise but 
comprehensive book Literary Landmarks 
(Houghton, Mifflin Company) — a book which 
every teacher should read. 

The simplest chart of all consists of a 



96 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

straight line drawn horizontally, in the mid- 
dle of which is a cross, representing the time 
of Christ. The portion of the line to the left 
indicates the time before Christ; that to the 
right, the time since Christ. Present day 
stories may be shown as belonging to the 
right hand portion of the chart, New Testa- 
ment stories to the middle portion, and the 
myth to the left hand. A very few words 
of explanation will suffice to make plain the 
meaning of the chart as giving the relative 
time of the story's origin. Then proceed to 
tell the story as usual. 

The first story in a series planned along 
these lines, may well be one of the earliest 
myths, that of Phaeton, or of Vulcan, illus- 
trating the earliest conception of the phe- 
nomenon of light and of fire. The Indian 
myth, giving the origin of fire as conceived 
by the North American Indian, should also 
be told, and located on the right hand side of 
the chart. 

The story of Cupid can be traced from 
its origin in the old time myth, through Greek 
literature and on into modern poems and 
prose, thus showing how the original thought 
of the myth-making period grows into new 



SYSTEMATIC STORY-TELLING 97 

forms and new beauty in the literature of 
later periods. 

Miss Burt sets forth clearly the use of 
the diagram or chart in the teaching of litera- 
ture. It can be used with equal success and 
to as great advantage by the story-teller who 
gives a related series of stories from dif- 
ferent periods of time. Grade teachers can 
make the chart serve its original purpose in 
the teaching of literature, and in story-telling 
can place the story in a brief word or two 
which shall give it a place, or a relationship 
to literature. This makes the story of 
greater value, through helping the child to 
assemble his literary landmarks. 

The mother who follows this method of 
story-telling in the home, selecting her stories 
from the best that literature affords, and 
grouping or placing them according to the 
period to which each belongs, will find as 
great delight and profit in the task, as will 
the children in the stories themselves. To 
many a mother, and teacher as well, it will 
prove a new viewpoint from which to study 
literature, while meeting the child's desire 
for stories in more than aimless fashion. 

The historical outline of a nation's prog- 



98 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

ress can be given by means of stories told in 
sequence. These stories should follow a 
chronological plan which can be as readily de- 
veloped by means of a chart as can the pe- 
riods of literature. The outline should be a 
very simple one at first, dividing the history 
into a few main periods of development, and 
telling stories characteristic of the divisions 
of time. Later these main periods may be 
subdivided, and new stories told of prominent 
characters or events, until 'a fairly compre- 
hensive view of the history as a whole has 
been acquired. 

Mothers who fear that the home duties and 
the rearing of children will cause them to 
drop behind the times, or to become out of 
date in their mental equipment, need have no 
fear of the children outstripping them if they 
will prepare themselves with a good outline 
of literature and of history, and follow these 
in the stories they tell their children. Such 
outlines may be found at any good library. 

Mythology and chivalry may be knitted 
into the hose and mittens of the little people ; 
fairy tales may be hemmed into the dainty 
garments ; and deeds of heroism mixed with 
the custard and the rolls, thus clothing and 



SYSTEMATIC STORY-TELLING 99 

building up discriminating minds to fit strong 
and rugged bodies. 

To mothers, as to teachers, I would most 
heartily recommend Miss Burt's book al- 
ready mentioned, for it is full of suggestive 
outlines which may be simplified or modi- 
fied to meet any existing need, while it gives 
a wide range of books from which stories 
may be chosen to fill the outlines. 

Another source of help to which too few 
mothers have recourse is to be found in the 
modern " children's librarian." Since story- 
telling has been made so important a fea- 
ture of library work in the children's de- 
partment, the subject has-been given close 
study, lists have been compiled, and special 
outlines prepared. Librarians are eager to 
extend these helps to mothers who may thus 
be saved the time which would otherwise be 
required for individual research. 



CHAPTER XI 
The Joy of Story-Telling 

DID you ever drop down upon a somewhat 
sleepy village where recreations and 
amusements are almost unknown, and there 
gather the children together and give them 
a story hour! 

They come with wonder, even with suspi- 
cion that you have some ulterior object as 
yet undisclosed, and they file in and eye you 
askance. 

And then you begin to tell the stories — 
animal stories, for all children love those ; 
a story from the Bible which reveals to them 
the fact that there are as great heroes among 
the Bible characters as are to be found in 
secular history ; a tale of chivalry which stirs 
the boys; and then perhaps a dialect story 
from Uncle Remus ; — and as you tell the sto- 
ries the suspicious look vanishes; the clear 
eyes before you look straight into yours; 
then there creeps into them a brightness, an 
eagerness for more ; then comes the ripple of 

100 



THE JOY OF STORY-TELLING loi 

merriment; a spontaneous ring of laughter; 
and then the plea, ' ' One more, oh, please, 
one more!" 

When you have done this ; when you have 
won to you the shy children of a whole vil- 
lage, then you know the pure joy of story- 
telling. 

There is nothing better worth winning than 
the love of a child, and there is no surer way 
of reaching a child's heart than through the 
story. 

The Story Hour 

Story-telling may be made a serious matter 
as to its purpose, but it should never be a 
serious matter as to its presentation. What- 
ever its purpose, the story itself must be a 
source of joy to the hearer, or its purpose 
fails. The lesson to be taught, whether moral 
or educational, fails in its object if the story 
itself be irksome or stupid. 

Conscientious teachers, feeling the weight 
of argument against them, and taking up the 
task of story-telling as an added obligation 
of schoolroom duty, wonder why the results 
are not what the evidence of other story- 
tellers had led them to believe. Story-telling, 



102 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

as a duty, unliglitened and unbrightened by 
a genuine love of the story and an eagerness 
for the joy it is to bring to the listeners, can 
never prove a success. 

The story-teller must enter with all her 
heart and all her enthusiasm into the life 
and beauty of the story she is telling, in 
order to achieve the best results. "Without 
this she cannot win the response of her hear- 
ers, nor reap the reward which should be 
her own. 

It is in the story hour that the true story- 
teller comes into her kingdom. Here she is 
free to give to the expectant hearers just 
the tale which they love to hear. She is not 
bound by rules or regulations, by systems or 
courses, but may follow the promptings of 
her intuition and sway her small auditors 
at her will. 

Here the rig-ma-role story may find its 
proper place and delight by its whimsical 
nonsense; the tale of chivalry, the story of 
brave achievement, or of loyalty of purpose, 
may be made to stir her hearers ; the dialect 
story — which the children seldom read but 
love to hear — may lend its quaint charm; 
or the nonsense tale may be used as the safety 



THE JOY OF STORY-TELLING 103 

valve for bubbling emotions. Varied in char- 
acter as the stories may be, each is permeated 
by the truest, purest joy in the telling — be 
it the classical story of the ' ' Wooden Horse ' ' 
and the " Fall of Troy," or the nursery tale 
of the ''Little Small Eid Hin " and the 
fall of " Eeynard the Fox." 

Thus may we win the hearts and the con- 
fidence of the children, and having won these, 
we may lead them whithersoever we will. 
And so, with Kate Douglas Wiggin, I can 
truly say : ' ' I would rather be the chil- 
dren 's story-teller than the queen's favorite 
or the king's counsellor." 



CHAPTER XII 

Story-Telling as an Art 

THE artist in colors works out his concep- 
tion of a picture upon canvas. It is fin- 
ished, and he steps aside. Personally he has 
nothing further to do with the presentation of 
that picture. But if his own individuality has 
not entered into the work, if something of 
himself has not permeated it, it can never be 
a work of true art. 

The story-teller also presents a picture — 
a word picture — and, like that of the artist 
of the brush, if her own individuality has not 
entered into it, if something of herself has 
not permeated it, it can not be true art. But, 
unlike the painter, her picture is never com- 
pleted; she is never able to step aside and 
say, "It is finished. ' ' And here the story- 
teller has the advantage of the painter, for 
each re-telling of her story is a new presenta- 
tion, and in each re-telling her own person- 
ality may lend a deeper pathos, a rarer glint 
of humor, a more searching vision of truth. 

104 



STORY-TELLING AS AN ART 105 

The story itself is the picture; its theme 
forms the subject; its literary quality corre- 
sponds to canvas and color. Hence a story, 
to be artistically told, must be well chosen. 
In its inherent character it must awaken the 
imagination; it must satisfy the love of 
beauty; it must mirror truth; and it must 
appeal to both the intellect and the emotion. 

Art's chief charm lies in its power to 
awaken the imagination, to stir the fancy, to 
suggest something above and beyond the 
actual portrayal. The subject of artistic 
story-telling must always be beautiful, but 
there are many types of beauty, many forms 
and fancies which appeal to our aesthetic 
sense. Again, no story which is not painted 
against ' * a universal background of truth ' ' 
can be artistic, for truth, not error, is beauti- 
ful. Finally, a story, to be great, must of 
necessity appeal to the intellect; but if its 
appeal be to the intellect alone, it is cold and 
formal. It must touch the emotions as well : 
it must have a human interest. 

Every well-told story, as every gem from 
the artist's brush, must have atmosphere — 
that indefinable something which casts its 
glamour over the whole. In story-telling, this 



io6 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

sense of atmosphere must come from the per- 
sonality of the teller. That is why there is 
such a variety of charm in hearing the same 
story told by different persons. This sense 
of atmosphere is created by the story-teller's 
losing herself wholly in the story. She com- 
pletely absorbs the story, its setting, its char- 
acters, its ideals, and when she gives it forth 
again, it takes on something of herself. This 
cannot be the case if the story is told as some- 
thing assumed, external, or borrowed. In the 
latter, no matter how good the technique, the 
art is lost. Perhaps this point, which is most 
essential to artistic story-telling, may be more 
deeply impressed by a concrete example : 

The story-lovers of one of our large cities 
recently had the pleasure of listening to two 
well-known story-tellers, each giving an hour 
with Uncle Eemus. Only a few days elapsed 
between the two presentations. In the first 
instance the story-teller had scarcely more 
than commenced when we felt that we were 
sitting in Uncle Eemus' cabin, away down 
South, listening to the adventures of Brer 
Wolf, Brer Fox, and Brer Eabbit, told by the 
old man who loved them as his own brothers 
of the woods. We were the little boy, to 



STORY-TELLING AS AN ART 107 

whom Uncle Eemus was telling the stories in 
his own inimitable way. 

In the second instance we were an audience 
in the North, listening to a well-told — a thor- 
oughly well-told — account of Uncle Remus' 
telling to a little boy the adventures of Brer 
Wolf, Brer Fox, and Brer Rabbit. "We 
laughed with the little boy; we enjoyed it 
with the little boy, but we ourselves were not 
that little boy sitting at the feet of Uncle 
Remus. 

Do you see the contrast? The first story- 
teller created the true " Uncle Remus at- 
mosphere "; his story-telling was an art. 

What was the difference in the telling? It 
was very simple. The one became Uncle 
Remus in spirit. In all conscious simplicity 
he was the old colored story-teller whom Joel 
Chandler Harris created, and he was tell- 
ing his story to the little boy — not to an 
*' audience." The other told us — most 
delightfully — about the old colored story- 
teller, and reproduced for us his stories. His 
technique was above reproach, and he satis- 
fied the intellect. The first also satisfied the 
intellect, but he reached far beyond it and 
touched the heart. 



io8 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

The artistic story must have perspective. 
One which lacks this quality is like a dia- 
gram ; it is not a picture. There must be rela- 
tive values, and the "witching glamour of the 
past.*' Give the old stories their appropriate 
setting in time and place. Let the modern 
story be the central figure against the uni- 
versal background of truth — a background 
which will soften its sharper outlines, and 
mellow its cruder tones. Preserve in the 
classic the classical spirit, as well as the 
classical form — that classical spirit which 
kindles the fancy and stirs the imagination. 
Let the hearers see their heroes through the 
vista of vanishing years. 

Technique is a necessary part of any artis- 
tic production. Note how carefully the artist 
selects his brushes and prepares his palette. 
The story-teller should do no less. As the 
brush of the artist must, to a certain extent, 
influence the effect of his colors, so the voice 
and manner of the story-teller must, to a cer- 
tain degree, affect the presentation of the 
story. Even the manner of dress has its 
influence. And so, with the example of the 
artist before us, let us choose these minor 
tools of our art with the single purpose of 



STORY-TELLING AS AN ART 109 

their suitability. Let them be natural, simple, 
harmonious. No judge of a picture thinks of 
the canvas or the pigments. They are wholly 
lost sight of. So will it be with the elements 
of the story-teller's equipment if they are 
suitable ; in other words, if they are in har- 
mony with her real purpose. But let us also 
bear in mind the fact that a true artist can 
do much with a poor brush, and the true 
story-teller can achieve good results even 
though the details of her equipment are not 
at their best. 

There must be variety in the story-pictures. 
No one cares to look continually at the paint- 
ings of even the greatest master, be he a 
Michael Angelo, or a Velasquez. The water 
colors of a Turner, or even the vagaries of a 
"Whistler afford needed change and variety — 
each arousing our admiration, each present- 
ing its own phase of art. So we need not 
always tell the stories of a Homer or a 
Shakespeare. These may well be interspersed 
with the tales of an Anderson, a Dickens, or 
a Joel Chandler Harris. 

There is an ' ' indefinite something ' ' about 
art which raises it above the commonplace. 
Perfection of craftsmanship does not produce 



no THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

this indescribable charm. It must emanate 
from the personality of the worker. 

Let US never confuse art with artificiality. 
Art is nothing assumed ; it is something felt. 
Until we feel our story we can never tell it at 
its best. 

Not all are artists, few are great artists; 
but you and I may do our best toward artis- 
tic attainment, and comfort ourselves over 
any lack of achievement by the reflection that 
while only the favored few see the great mas- 
terpieces of painting, the lives of the multi- 
tude are made brighter and happier by the 
work of the lesser artists, who, striving 
against their limitations, have yet given to 
the world their best. 



PART n 

Selected Stories to Tell 



Selected Stories to Tell 

THE following stories are selected with a 
view to fulfilling various purposes, to 
meeting varied needs. Though not all are 
great stories, yet the object to be attained by 
telling them is great ; for the work of mold- 
ing the mind of a child can be nothing less. 
Each story is worth while : most of them lie 
outside the beaten path. 



The Robin's Carol * 

This is the carol the robin throws 
Over the edge of the valley; 

Listen how boldly it flows, 
Sally on sally: 

Tirra-lirra, 
Down the river, 
Laughing water 



* From The Angler's Beveille, by Henry van Dyke.' 
By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. 

"3 



114 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

All a quiver. 
Day is near, 
Clear, clear, 
Fish are breaking, 
Time for waking. 
Tup, tup, tup! 
Do you hear? 
All clear — 
[Wake up 1 

The Little Baldhead* 

You dear little baby, 

Don't you cry; 
Your father's drawing water 

In the south, near by. 
A red tasseled hat 

He wears on his head; 
Your mother's in the kitchen 

Making up bread. 
Walk a step, walk a step, 

Off he goes, 
See from his shoe-tips 

Peep three toes. 

*rrom Chinese Mother Goose Bhymes. Translated by 
Isaac T. Headland. By permission of Fleming H. Eevell 
Company. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 115 
Why the Bear Sleeps All Winter * 

Once upon a time, little Brother Babbit 
lived, quite sober and industrious, in the 
woods, and just close by lived a big, brown 
Bear. 

Now little Brother Rabbit never troubled 
his neighbors in those days, nor meddled with 
their housekeeping, nor played any tricks the 
way he does now. In the fall, he gathered 
his acorns, and his pignuts, and his rabbit 
tobacco. On a frosty morning, he would set 
out with Brother Fox for the farmer's; and 
while Brother Fox looked after the chicken 
yards, little Brother Rabbit picked cabbage, 
and pulled turnips, and gathered carrots and 
parsnips for his cellar. When the winter 
came, he never failed to share his store with 
a wandering chipmunk. 

Now, in those days, old Bear was not con- 
tent to do his own housekeeping, and doze 
in the sun, and gather wild honey in the sum- 
mer, and fish through the ice in the winter. 
He was full of mischief, and was always play- 
ing tricks. Of all the beasts of the wood, the 

*From Firelight Stones, by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey 
(Milton Bradley Company). By permission of the author 
and publishers. 



ii6 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

one he loved best to trouble was sober little 
Brother Babbit. 

Just as soon as Brother Rabbit moved to 
a new tree stump, and filled his bins with 
vegetables, and his pantry with salad, along 
came old Bear and carried off all his stores. 

Just as soon as Brother Rabbit filled his 
house with dry, warm leaves for a bed, along 
came old Bear, and tried to squeeze himself 
into the bed, too, and of course he was too 
big. 

At last. Brother Rabbit could stand it no 
longer, and he went to all the beasts in the 
wood to ask their advice. 

The first one he met was Brother Frog, 
sitting on the edge of the pond, and sticking 
his feet in the nice, cool mud. 

'' What shall I do, Brother Frog? " asked 
Brother Rabbit; ''Brother Bear will not 
leave me alone. ' ' 

*'Let us ask Brother Squirrel," said 
Brother Frog. 

So the two went to Brother Squirrel, crack- 
ing nuts in the hickory tree. 

"What shall we do, Brother Squirrel?" 
asked Brother Frog; " Brother Bear will not 
leave Brother Rabbit alone." 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 117 

'* Let us ask Brother Mole," said Brother 
Squirrel, dropping his nuts. 

So the three went to where Brother Mole 
was digging the cellar for a new house, and 
they said: 

''What shall we do, Brother Mole? 
Brother Bear will not leave Brother Rabbit 
alone.'* 

'' Let us ask Brother Fox," said Brother 
Mole. 

So Brother Mole, Brother Squirrel, 
Brother Frog, and Brother Rabbit went to 
where Brother Fox was combing his brush 
behind a bush, and they said to him : 

'' What shall we do, Brother Fox? Brother 
Bear will not leave Brother Rabbit alone." 

''Let us go to Brother Bear," said 
Brother Fox. 

So they all went along with little Brother 
Rabbit, and they hunted and hunted for old 
Bear, but they could not find him anywhere. 
They hunted and hunted some more, and at 
last they peeped into a hollow tree. There 
lay old Bear, fast asleep. 

"Hush," said Brother Fox. 

Then he whispered to Brother Frog, 
"Bring a little mud." 



ii8 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

And lie whispered to Brother Squirrel, 
"Bring some leaves." 

And he whispered to Brother Mole, ' * Bring 
some dirt, little brother." 

And to Brother Eabbit he said, ** Stand 
ready to do what I tell you." 

So Brother Frog brought mud, Brother 
Squirrel brought leaves, Brother Mole 
brought dirt, and Brother Rabbit stood ready 
to do what Brother Fox told him. 

Then Brother Fox said to Brother Eabbit, 
*' Stop up the ends of Brother Bear's log." 

So Brother Rabbit took the mud and the 
leaves and the dirt, and he stopped up the 
ends of the log. Then he hammered hard 
with his two back feet, which are good for 
hammering. And they all went home, for 
they thought that old Bear would never, 
never get out of the log. 

Well, old Bear slept and slept, but after 
a while he awoke, and he opened one eye. 
He saw no sunshine, so he thought it was 
still night, and he went to sleep again. 

After another while, he awoke again, but 
he heard the rain and sleet beating outside, 
and it was very warm and dry inside. 

" What a very long night," said old Bear, 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 119 

and he curled up his paws, and he went to 
sleep again. 

This time, he just slept, and slept, until 
it began to be very warm inside the log, and 
he heard in his dreams the footsteps of birds 
outside. 

Then he awoke, and he stretched himself, 
and he shook himself. He rubbed his eyes 
with his paws, and he poked away the mud, 
and the leaves, and the dirt, and he went 
outside. 

But was he not surprised? 

It had been a frosty night when he had 
gone to sleep, and now the woods were green. 
Old Bear had slept all winter. 

'* That was a fine long sleep," said old 
Bear, as he set out for little Brother Eabbit's 
house to see if he had anything good for 
breakfast ; * * and I shall go to sleep again, 
next fall." 

So every summer, old Bear plays tricks 
on little Brother Rabbit, but when fall comes, 
he creeps away to a warm, dark place to sleep 
until spring. 

And so have his grandchildren, and his 
great-grandchildren, and his great-great- 
grandchildren ever since. 



120 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

The Little Boy Who Forgot to Wash 
His Hands* 

Once upon a time, so very long ago that 
of course there are no children like that now, 
there was a little boy who almost never 
washed his hands. He wrote with ink and 
got ink on his fat little fore-finger ; he made 
pictures with his paints and daubed his 
thumbs with red and yellow and blue color; 
he made mud pies and splashed mud all over 
his chubby palms and he never washed off 
the ink or the paint or the mud. 

And when anyone spoke of his dirty hands, 
Bobby — that was the little boy's name — 
would say, *'0h, I forgot." And then he 
would keep right on forgetting all about nice 
warm soap and soft dry towels, and pretty, 
clean, pink hands. 

One day, Bobby decided that he wanted 
to play, very hard. The sun was up, there 
was a soft, singing wind out in the garden, 
and the whole world looked clean and happy. 
So Bobby put on his cap, and because it is 
always better to play with someone than to 
play alone, Bobby called his big white pussy 

* Jane Arnold, in American Motherhood. By permission 
of tlie publishers. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 121 

cat who often loved to chase up and down 
the path that ran between the hedges. 

* ' Come, pussy, pussy dear ! ' ' called Bobby, 
" come and play with me.'* 

Then, because the white cat did not seem 
to hear, Bobby stooped over and picked her 
up in his arms. But the white cat wriggled 
and scratched and spit at Bobby and jumped 
out of his arms. She ran away from him and 
hid beneath a chair. 

* * I wonder why she will not play with me, ' ' 
Bobby said as he went out into the garden. 
There, on the doorstep, stood Bobby's white 
dove with the pink, pink toes. Bobby loved 
the white dove, who was very tame and often 
flew to his shoulder, cooing gently in his ear. 
He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out 
a handful of grain which he scattered on the 
doorstep for the dove — pretty yellow grain 
it was. But the white dove would not eat it, 
and when Bobby called her, she flew away 
from him, as far as the green gables at the 
very top of the house. 

"I wonder why she will not play with 
me," said Bobby, as he ran down the garden 
path to the little round pond where his six 
yellow gold fish lived. The six yellow gold 



122 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

fish were Bobby's friends and they often 
played with him as well as they knew how. 
When he threw crumbs into the pond they 
would come to the top with their little mouths 
wide open, and would dart about in the shin- 
ing water as if they wanted Bobby to jump 
in and swim about and enjoy the feast with 
them. 

But today, when Bobby gave them some 
crumbs which he had in his pocket, they did 
not come up to eat them. They stayed deep, 
deep down in the pond. 

**I wonder why — " Bobby began, and 
then he happened to look down at the water. 
The top of the pond was a shining mirror 
and in it Bobby saw a picture of two little 
black hands. 

The crumbs that he had thrown to the six 
yellow gold fish were black, too. The pretty 
yellow grain that he gave the dove had been 
black, and when he had lifted the white pussy 
cat, his hands had left two big, black smudges 
upon her beautiful white fur. 

**Why, my hands are dirty," exclaimed 
Bobby. 

You see, he had never really thought about 
his hands before. So he went right into the 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 123 

house to wash them and he never, never 
forgot to wash them again. 



The Honest Woodman * 

Once npon a time a poor woodman lived 
with his family near a great forest. Every 
week day he shouldered his ax very early 
in the morning, and bidding his wife and chil- 
dren good-by, went out to cut wood for his 
master. 

One day when he was chopping at the trunk 
of a gi^eat tree growing near a stream, his 
ax suddenly slipped out of his hands and 
dropped with a splash into the water. 

Oh, how troubled the poor man was! He 
couldn't earn a penny without an ax, and 
he was too poor to buy one. He sat down 
on the bank and wept as though his heart 
would break. 

"What is the trouble, my good man?" 
asked a voice at his side. It was a fairy! 
And such a jolly-looking fairy, too. He had 
wings on his cap, and wings on his shoes, 
and even on his staff! 

*Froni Aesop's Fables; adapted by D. L. Graves in 
American Motherhood. By permission of the author and 
publishers. 



124 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

* * I dropped my ax in the stream, and I 
can't chop wood any more, and my family 
will starve," sobbed the man. 

Instantly Mercury, for that was the fairy's 
name, dived down into the water, and came 
up, dripping wet, holding a beautiful golden 
ax in his hand. 

" Is this your ax? " he asked. 

** No, that is not mine." 

The good fairy dived into the stream again, 
and this time brought up a silver ax. 

** Is this yours? " 

*'No, that isn't mine, either." The poor 
man needed an ax very much, but he would 
not claim one that did not belong to him, of 
course. 

Once more Mercury plunged into the 
water, but this time he came up with a com- 
mon ax in his hand. 

"Is this your ax?" he asked. 

** Yes! Oh, yes! that is mine! " cried the 
man, joyfully. * * Thank you so much for your 
kindness. I am sorry you are so wet." 

** I don't mind that," said Mercury. '' It 
is indeed a pleasure to meet such an honest 
man. I will give you both the gold and the 
silver axes as well as your own, and you can 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 125 

sell them for much gold, and you shall never 
be poor again." And he was gone before 
the woodcutter had time to thank him. 

The woodcutter went home a very happy 
man, for now he would always have plenty 
for his family. When his neighbors heard 
about his good fortune, one of them who was 
a lazy, good-for-nothing fellow decided to 
try his luck in the same way. He went to 
the stream, threw his ax in, and sitting down 
on the bank, wept aloud as the honest wood- 
man had done. 

Suddenly Mercury appeared to him. 

" What is the trouble, my good man? " he 
asked, as before. 

*'I dropped my ax in the river," sobbed 
the man. 

Instantly the fairy dived into the water, 
and in a moment came up with a golden ax 
in his hand. 

** Is this your ax? " 

*'Yes! Oh, yes! that is mine," the dis- 
honest man cried, reaching out eagerly for 
the beautiful golden tool. 

But Mercury knew he was not speaking 
the truth, and was very angry with him. 
Instead of giving bun the golden ax, he 



126 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

dropped it into the stream and disappeared 
without trying to find the man's own ax. So, 
instead of going home a rich man, as he had 
expected, he went home poorer than he had 
come. 

Tabby and the Mice * 

Three little mice once lived in an old box. 

' * I am going to make a new house, ' ' said 
the largest mouse, whose name was Bus. 

' ' / am going to make a new house, ' ' said 
the next mouse, whose name was Fus. 

'^ / am going to make a new house," said 
the third mouse, who name was Mus. 

"My house shall be made of hay," said 
Rus, who did not like to be cold. 

" My house shall be made of paper," said 
Fus, who was fond of books. 

" My house shall be made of bricks," said 
Mus, who was as wise as he could be. 

So the three little mice made their homes. 

One day Tabby Cat came along. She saw 
the three houses that the little mice had made. 

* This story, reprinted by permission from the second 
book of the series of Jones Readers (Ginn and Company), 
is an especially good type of story to tell to small chil- 
dren, since it is full of action and of conversation, two 
features which they particularly enjoy, and its lesson of 
forethought is made very plain through the development 
of the story itself. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 127 

She was a very polite old cat, so she 
knocked at the door of the first house. 

" Come, Mr. Eus; please let me in! " said 
she. 

'^ Oh, no," said Eus; '* you can't come in." 

Tabby was a wise old cat. She put her 
soft paw into the hay and caught poor Eus. 

Then she went to the next house. ' ' Come, 
Mr. Fus; let me in," she said. 

'* Oh, no ! " said Fus, '' you can't come in." 

But Tabby knew better than that. She 
put her paw through the paper door and 
caught poor Fus. Then she went to the next 
house. 

'* Come, Mr. Mus; let me in! " said she. 

''Oh, yes!" said Mus; ''when I am 
ready. ' ' 

So Tabby sat down to wait. She laughed 
when she thought what a nice supper Mus 
would make. 

When she had waited a long time, she 
grew tired. 

' ' Are you ready now, Mr. Mus ? ' ' she 
asked. 

" Not yet," said Mus. 

By and by Tabby knocked loudly on the 
door. 



228 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

** I am coming in now, Mr. Mns," said she. 

''Very well; come in if you like," said 
Mus; but lie did not open the door. 

So Tabby tried and tried to open the door. 

Then she tried to push down the house. 
Then she tried to make Mus come out. At 
last she told Mus just what she thought of 
him. 

This did not trouble Mus at all. He had 
curled himself up in a snug corner of his 
house and was fast asleep. 

The Gold Bugs * 

Once upon a time there were two green and 
glittering gold bugs, and one said to the 
other : 

' ' The day is warm and sunny ; let us go 
out and play. ' ' 

** We will," said the second gold bug, and 
they decided to play at dancing. 

So the two green, glittering gold bugs went 
down to a brook near by, and there, shining 
and floating above the water, they saw two 
glorious dragon flies, one green, and one blue. 

" We will dance with these dragon flies," 

*By Carolyn Sherwin Bailey, in Firelight Stories (Mil- 
ton Bradley Company). By permission of the author and 
publishers. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 129 

said one gold bug. *' I choose the blue one." 

''You cannot have her," said the other 
gold bug, " I choose her." 

' ' I will dance with the blue dragon fly, ' ' 
said the second gold bug. 

So they quarreled until two other gold bugs 
came along, and asked the dragon flies to 
dance with them, so that was an end of the 
matter. 

The two green and glittering gold bugs 
then said they would play at something else. 

''We will play hide and seek," said the 
first gold bug. 

"No, we will play tag," said the second 
gold bug. 

" I will play nothing but hide and seek," 
said the first gold bug. 

" And I will play nothing but tag," said 
the second gold bug. 

" I am going to hide," said the first gold 
bug; so he went away and hid himself be- 
neath a clover leaf, but, ah, there was no 
one to blind, and then go and look for him. 

"I will run," said the second gold bug; 
so he ran, but, ah, there was no one to catch 
him. It was not fun to play that way, and 
there was an end of the matter. 



130 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 



The two green and glittering gold bugs 
then said they would play at something else, 
so they went to a tall bell flower to swing. 

* * I will sit inside, and yon shall rock me, ' ' 
said the first gold bug. 

" No, I will sit inside first, and yon shall 
rock me," said the second gold bug. 

So they quarreled as to which should swing 
first, and in their quarreling they tore a 
petal of the beautiful bell flower, so they 
could not swing at all, and there was an end 
of the matter. 

* ^ Tut, tut, what is the meaning of this ? ' ' 
asked an old gold bug who came crawling 
along just then. ' ' Why do you two green 
and glittering young things quarrel this 
bright morning? " 

* * We cannot play, and we are very un- 
happy, grandfather," said the two gold bugs. 
' ' We do not both wish to play at the same 
games." 

*' Silly, silly," said the old gold bug, and 
as he crawled away, he turned his head about, 
and he said, ' ' Take turns, take turns. Turn 
about is fair play." 

Now it had never occurred to the two green 
and glittering gold bugs that to take turns 



I 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 131 

is the best way to play, and they decided to 

try. 

They went back to the brook, and there 
were the two beautiful dragon flies, again 
floating over the water. So the first gold bug 
danced with the green dragon fly, and the 
second gold bug danced with the blue dragon 
fly; and then they changed about until they 
could dance no longer. 

After that they played tag, and the first 
gold bug chased the second gold bug until 
they were tired. Then the first gold bug hid 
himself, and the second gold bug tried to 
find him, which was very good fun indeed. 

And last of all they found another bell 
flower, and they rocked each other all the 
afternoon, until it was time to go home. 

So they had a very good day after all, did 
those green and glittering gold bugs, for they 
had learned that to take turns is the best 
way to play. 

The History of Tip-Top * 

Under the window of a certain pretty cot- 
tage there grew a great old apple tree, which 

*From Queer Little People, by Harriet Beecher Stowe 
(Houghton, Mifflin Company). By permission of the pub- 
lishers. (Abridged.) 



132 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

in the spring had thousands and thousands 
of lovely pink blossoms on it, and in the 
autumn had many bright red apples. 

The nursery of this cottage was a little 
bower of a room, and here five little children 
used to come to be dressed and have their 
hair brushed and curled every morning. 

Now it used to happen, every morning, that 
the five little heads would be peeping out of 
the window, together, into the flowery boughs 
of the apple tree; and the reason was this. 
A pair of robins had built a very pretty, 
smooth-lined nest directly under the window. 
The robins, at first, had been rather shy of 
this inspection; but, as they got better ac- 
quainted, they seemed to think no more of 
the little curly heads in the window than of 
the pink blossoms about them, or the daisies 
and buttercups at the foot of the tree. 

"When the little nest was finished, it was 
so neat, and workmanlike, that the children 
all exulted over it, and called it '' our nestj" 
and the two robins they called '' our birds." 
But wonderful was the joy when the little 
eyes, opening one morning, saw in the nest 
a beautiful pale-green egg; and the joy grew 
from day to day, for every day there came 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 133 

another egg, and so on till there were five 
little eggs. 

After that the mother bird began to sit on 
the eggs, and then it seemed a very long 
time for the children to wait. But one morn- 
ing, when they pushed their five curly heads 
out of the window, the patient little bird was 
gone and there seemed to be nothing left in 
the little nest but a bunch of something 
hairy. 

'' 0, mamma, do come here! " they cried, 
* ' the bird has gone and left her nest ! ' ' But 
at that five little red mouths opened wide, 
and then they saw that the hairy bunch of 
stuff was five little birds. 

'' They are dreadful looking things," said 
one of the children; *'I didn't know that 
little birds began by looking so bad." 

But after this it was great fun to watch 
the parent birds feed this nestful of little red 
mouths, until it became a nestful of little, fat, 
speckled robins. 

Then, as there were five children, and five 
robins, they each chose one bird for his own, 
and they named them Brown-Eyes, Tip-Top, 
Singer, Toddy, and Speckle. 

Time went on, and as Brown-Eyes, Tip- 



134 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Top, Singer, Toddy, and Speckle grew bigger, 
they began to make a very crowded nestful 
of birds. 

Now the children had been taught a little 
verse which said : 

Birds in their little nests agree. 

And 'tis a shameful sight 
When children of one family 

Fall out, and chide, and fight; 

and they thought anything really written and 
printed must be true; therefore they were 
very much astonished to see, from day to 
day, that their little birds in their nest did 
not agree. 

Tip-Top was the biggest and strongest 
bird, and he was always shuffling and crowd- 
ing the others, and clamoring for the most 
food. Speckle was a bird of spirit, and he 
used to peck at Tip-Top, while Brown-Eyes 
was a meek, tender little fellow. As for 
Toddy and Singer, they turned out to be sis- 
ter birds, and showed quite a feminine talent 
for chattering. 

** I say,'* said Tip-Top one day, *' this old 
nest is a dull, crowded hole, and it *s quite 
time some of us were out of it. ' ' 

** My dear boy," said Mother Robin, ** we 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 135 

shall teach you to fly as soon as your wings 
are strong enough." 

"Humbug!" cried Tip-Top, balancing 
with his short little tail on the edge of the 
nest. *' Look at those swallows, skimming 
and diving through the blue air ! That 's the 
way I want to do." 

" My dear boy," said his mother, " do go 
into the nest and be a good little bird, and 
then you will be happy." 

*' I 'm too big for the nest," said Tip-Top, 
'' and I want to see the world. It 's full of 
beautiful things, I know. Now there 's the 
most lovely creature with bright eyes, that 
comes under the tree every day, and wants 
me to come down in the grass and play with 
her. ' ' 

*'My son, my son, beware!" said the 
frightened mother; "that seemingly lovely 
creature is our dreadful enemy, the cat — a 
horrid monster, with teeth and claws." 

At this all the little birds shuddered and 
cuddled deeper into the nest— all but Tip- 
Top, who didn't believe it. 

So the next morning, after the father and 
mother were gone, Tip-Top got on the edge 
of the nest again, and looked over and saw 



136 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

lovely Miss Pussy washing her face among 
the daisies under the tree, and her hair was 
smooth and white as the daisies, and her eyes 
were yellow and beautiful to behold, and she 
looked up to the tree bewitchingly and said, 
* '■ Little birds, little birds, come down. 
Pussy wants to play with you." 

" Only look at her! " said Tip-Top; ** her 
eyes are like gold. ' ' 

'* No, don't look," said Singer and Speckle. 
^ ' She will bewitch you and then eat you up ; 
mother said so." 

' ' I 'd like to see her try to eat me up, ' ' 
said Tip-Top, again balancing his short tail 
over the edge of the nest. * * Her paws are 
as white as velvet, and so soft! I don't 
believe she has any claws." 

'' Don't go, brother, don't ! " screamed both 
sisters. 

A moment after, a dreadful scream was 
heard from the nursery window. * ' 0, 
mamma, mamma, do come here ! Tip-Top 's 
fallen out of the nest, and the cat has got 
him ! " 

Poor, foolish Tip-Top! 

But in another moment the children were 
in the yard, and Jamie plunged under a bush 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 137 

and caught tlie cat, with luckless Tip-Top in 
her mouth. 

Tip-Top was not dead, but some of his 
pretty feathers were gone, and one of his 
wings was broken. 

'' Oh, what shall we do for him? " cried 
the children. '' Poor Tip-Top ! " 

** We will put him back into the nest, chil- 
dren, ' ' said mamma. ' ' His mother will know 
best what to do for him." 

So a ladder was brought, and papa climbed 
up and put poor Tip-Top safely into the nest. 
The cat had shaken all the nonsense well out 
of him, and he was a dreadfully humbled 
young robin. 

And when the time came for all the other 
little birds to learn to fly, poor Tip-Top was 
still confined to the nest with his broken wing. 

The Good King* 

Once upon a time there was a King in 
Spain who had only one leg. He was a Good 
King, and he had a big Animal Farm where 
he kept all the animals who had lost one or 
more of their legs. 

•By Margaret and Clarence Weed, in St. Nicholas. By 
permission of the authors and publishers. 



138 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

In another part of Spain there was a Little 
Half Chick with only one eye, one wing, and 
one leg. The other chickens with two eyes 
and two legs gobbled up the corn so fast that 
Little Half Chick was nearly starved. 

One day a Donkey told Little Half Chick 
about the Good King and his Animal Farm. 
Little Half Chick at once started hoppity-hop 
for Mother Hen and said: 

' * Mother Hen, I am going to Madrid to see 
the Good King." 

''All right," said Mother Hen, ''good 
luck to you." 

So Little Half Chick started off, hoppity- 
hop, hoppity-hop, along the road to Madrid 
to see the Good King. 

Soon she met a Two-legged Cat going along 
hippity-hip, hippity-hip, on her leg and 
crutch. The Cat said: 

" Hello, Little Half Chick, where are yo 
going so fast? " 

Little Half Chick said, " I am going to 
Madrid to see the Good King." 

' ' May I go too 1 ' ' said the Two-legged Cat. 

"Yes," said Little Half Chick, "fall in 
behind. ' ' 

So the Cat fell in behind. Hoppity-hop, 



I 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 139 

hoppity-hop, went Little Half Chick. Hip- 
pity-hip, hippity-hip, went the Two-legged 
Cat. 

Soon they met a Three-legged Dog going 
along humpity-hnmp, humpity-hump. The 
Dog said: 

' * Hello, Little Half Chick, where are you 
going so fast? " 

Little Half Chick said, * ' I am going to 
Madrid to see the Good King.'* 

'■ ' May I go too ? " said the Three-legged 
Dog. 

''Yes," said Little Half Chick, ''fall in 
behind. ' ' 

So the Dog fell in behind. Hoppity-hop, 
hoppity-hop, went Little Half Chick. Hip- 
pity-hip, hippity-hip, went the Two-legged 
Cat. 

Humpity-hump, humpity-hump, went the 
Three-legged Dog. 

Soon they met a One-legged Crow going 
along jumpity-jump, jumpity-jump. The 
Crow said: 

" Hello, Little Half Chick, where are you 
going so fast? " 

Little Half Chick said, " I am going to 
Madrid to see the Good King." 



140 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

''May I go too?'* said the One-legged 
Crow. 

''Yes," said Little Half Chick, "fall in 
behind.'* 

So the Crow fell in behind. Hoppity-hop, 
hoppity-hop, went Little Half Chick. Hip- 
pity-hip, hippity-hip, went the Two-legged 
Cat. Hmnpity-hnnip, humpity-hnmp, went 
the Three-legged Dog. Jumpity-jmnp, jmnp- 
ity-jump, went the One-legged Crow. 

Soon they met a Snake with no legs at all. 
He had caught his tail in his teeth, and was 
rolling along, loopity-loop, loopity-loop. The 
Snake said: 

" Hello, Little Half Chick, where are you 
going so fast? ' 

' ' I am going to Madrid to see the Good 
King," said Little Half Chick. 

' ' May I go too ? ' ' said the Snake. 

"Yes," said Little Half Chick, "fall in 
behind." 

So the Snake fell in behind. Hoppity-hop, 
hoppity-hop, went Little Half Chick. Hip- 
pity-hip, hippity-hip, went the Two-legged 
Cat. Humpity-hnmp, humpity-hump, went 
the Three-legged Dog. Jumpity-jump, jump- 
ity-jump, went the One-legged Crow. Loop- 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 141 

ity-loop, loopity-loop, went the Snake with no 
legs at all. 

Soon they came to Madrid and saw the 
Good King. With the King was his little 
daughter Margaret. They both laughed as 
all these funny animals came up. The King 
said to Little Margaret : 

'' Do you want to see us all go out to the 
Animal Farm? " 

'' Yes," said Little Margaret, '' I will lead 
the way." 

So she led the way along the street to the 
Animal Farm. Behind Margaret came the 
One-legged King. Next came Little Half 
Chick, next the Two-legged Cat, next the 
Three-legged Dog, next the One-legged Crow, 
and last of all the Snake with no legs at all. 
So they all went out to the Animal Farm. 
And there they lived happily ever after. 

The Plowman Who Found Content* 
A plowman paused in his work one day to 
rest. As he sat on the handle of his plow 
he fell a-thinking. The world had not been 
going well with him of late, and he could 
not help feeling downhearted. Just then he 

•English Folk-tale. 



142 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

saw an old woman looking at him over the 
hedge. 

** Good-morning! " she said. ** If yon are 
wise you will take my advice. ' ' 

' ' And what is your advice ? " he asked. 

' ' Leave your plow, and walk straight on 
for two days. At the end of that time you 
will fmd yourself in the middle of a forest, 
and in front of you there will be a tree tower- 
ing high above the others. Cut it down, and 
your fortune will be made. ' ' 

With these words the old woman hobbled 
down the road, leaving the plowman wonder- 
ing. He unharnessed his horses, drove them 
home, and said good-by to his wife ; and then 
taking his ax, started out. 

At the end of two days he came to the tree, 
and set to work to cut it down. As it crashed 
to the ground a nest containing two eggs fell 
from its topmost branches. The shells of the 
eggs were smashed, and out of one came a 
young eagle, while from the other rolled a 
small gold ring. ^r 

The eagle rapidly became larger and larger, 
till it was of full size ; then, flapping its wings, 
it flew up. 

* * I thank you, honest man, for giving me 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 143 

my freedom," it called out. '*In token of 
my gratitude take the ring— it is a wishing 
ring. If you wish anything as you turn it 
round on your finger, your wish will be ful- 
filled. But remember this— the ring con- 
tains but one wish, so think well before you 
use it." 

The man put the ring on his finger, and 
set off on his homeward journey. Night was 
coming on when he entered a town. Almost 
the first person he saw was a goldsmith 
standing at the door of his shop. So he went 
up to him, and asked him what the ring was 
worth. 

The goldsmith looked at it carefully, and 
handed it back to the man with a smile. 

'' It is of very little value," he said. 

The plowman laughed. 

'' Ah, Mr. Goldsmith," he cried, " you have 
made a mistake this time. My ring is worth 
more than all you have in your shop ; it 's a 
wishing-ring, and will give me anything I 
care to wish for." 

The goldsmith felt annoyed and asked to 
see it again. 

''Well, my good man," he said, ''never 
mind about the ring. I dare say you are far 



144 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

from home, and are in want of some supper 
and a bed for the night. Come in and spend 
the night in my house.'* 

The man gladly accepted the offer, and was 
soon sound asleep. In the middle of the night 
the goldsmith took the ring from his finger, 
and put another just like it in its place with- 
out disturbing him in the least. 

Next morning the countryman went on his 
way, all unconscious of the trick that had 
been played on him. When he had gone the 
goldsmith closed the shutters of his shop, 
and bolted the door; then turning the ring 
on his finger he said, * ' I wish for a hundred 
thousand sovereigns! " 

Scarcely had the sound of his voice died 
away than there fell about him a shower of 
hard, bright, golden sovereigns. They struck 
him on the head, on the shoulders, on the 
hands. They covered the floor. Presently 
the floor gave way beneath the weight, and 
the goldsmith and his gold fell into the cellar 
beneath. 

Next morning, when the goldsmith did not 
open the shop as usual, the neighbors forced 
open the door, and found him buried beneath 
the pile. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 145 

Meanwhile the countryman reached his 
home, and told his wife of the ring. 

" Now, good wife," said he, '^ here is the 
ring; our fortune is made. Of course we 
must consider the matter well; then, when 
we have made up our minds as to what is 
best, we can express some very big wish as I 
turn the ring on my finger." 

" Suppose," said the woman, ** we were to 
wish for a nice farm ; the land we have now 
is so small as to be almost useless." 

* ' Yes, ' ' said the husband ; * ' but, on the 
other hand, if we work hard and spend little 
for a year or two we might be able to buy 
as much as we want. Then we could get 
something else with the wishing-ring. " 

So it was agreed. For a year the man and 
his wife worked hard. Harvest came, and 
the crops were splendid. At the end of the 
year they were able to buy a nice farm, and 
still had some money left. 

** There," said the man, "we have the 
land, and we still have our wish." 

" Well," said his wife, " we could do very 
well with a horse and a cow." 

' ' They are not worth wishing for, ' ' said 
he; "we can get them as we got the land." 



146 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

So they went on working steadily and 
spending wisely for another year. At the end 
of that time they bought both a horse and a 
cow. Husband and wife were greatly pleased 
with their good fortune, for, said they, '' We 
have got the things we wanted and we have 
still our wish." 

As time went on everything prospered with 
the worthy couple. They worked hard, and 
were happy. Indeed, the husband would 
probably have forgotten all about the ring 
had not his wife constantly asked him to wish 
for something. 

'* Let us work while we are young," her 
husband would answer. ' ' Life is still before 
us, and who can say how badly we may need 
our wish some day." 

So the years passed away. Every season 
saw the bounds of the farm increase and the 
granaries grow fuller. All day long the 
farmer was about in the fields, while his wife 
looked after the house and the dairy. Some- 
times, as they sat alone of an evening, she 
would remind him of the unused wishing-ring, 
and would talk of things she would like to 
have for the house. But he always replied 
that there was still plenty of time for that. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 147 

The man and his wife grew old and gray. 
Then came a day when they both died — and 
the wishing-ring had not been used. It was 
still on his finger as he had worn it for forty 
years. One of his sons was going to take it 
off, but the oldest said : 

" Do not disturb it; there has been some 
secret in connection with it. Perhaps our 
mother gave it to him, for I have often seen 
her look longingly at it.'* 

Thus the old man was buried with the ring, 
which was supposed to be a wishmg-ring, but 
which, as we know, was not, though it brought 
the old couple more good fortune and happi- 
ness than all the wishing in the world could 
ever have given them. 

King of the Frogs* 

Once upon a time — so long ago that the 
oldest frog now living does not remember it 
— all the frogs of a far-away country came 
together in solemn council. 

" I propose," said a big green fellow with 
a very deep voice, " that we ask to have a 
king appointed to rule over us." 

•Original adaptation of an old legend. 



148 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

** What do we want of a kingi " asked a 
small and inquisitive frog. 

But his voice was hardly heard, for all the 
other frogs shouted together, "Yes, let us 
have a king. Let us have a king." 

** Haven't we all we need, now, to make us 
happy! " asked the little, inquisitive frog 
again. But nobody paid the slightest atten- 
tion to him. 

So the other frogs sent a request to the 
Great Euler of the land, asking that he 
appoint a king to rule over them. 

"A king of the frogs!" said- the Great 
Euler, when he heard their request. And 
then he knit his brows and thought for a very 
long time. 

But nobody knew that his thoughts were 
the same as those of the little, inquisitive 
frog to whom nobody had paid any attention. 

At last the Great Euler spoke. 

*'Why do you want a king!" he asked. 
"Have you not, now, everything you need 
to make you happy! " 

But all the frogs shouted in chorus, " Give 
us a king. Give us a king." 

So the Great Euler knit his brows and 
thought again for a very long time. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 149 

At length he spoke. ' ' I will give you a 
great log for a king. It will bear yon upon 
the water and the sun will shine upon you 
as you rest on its broad surface." 

But the frogs were angry at this. * ' The 
idea ! ' ' they shouted. ' ' We want a living 
king; we want no dead log for a king." 

So the G-reat Euler knit his brows and 
thought again for a very long time. 

At length he spoke. ' ' Since you insist 
upon it, I will give you the stork for your 
king. ' ' 

Then all the frogs sang joyfully, '* Yes, we 
will have the stork for our king. The stork 
is our king! The stork is our king! " 

So the stork was sent to rule over them, 
and as soon as he came among them he began 
to eat. And he ate and ate — till he had 
swallowed every frog in the land. 

The Adder That Did Not Hear * 

Away in the midst of the forest, there lived 
a tiny adder. He was so very little that the 
great beasts never thought of talking to him. 
But the spiders and the wasps and the frogs 
often stopped to visit at his doorway. 

* Original adaptation of Old Folktale, 



150 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

One morning, as a frog hopped down the 
path, he stopped and called '* Good morning. 
I Ve a bit of news for you." 

''Good morning," replied the adder. "I 
hope it is good news, I am sure." 

"What's good news to one person may 
be bad news to another," croaked the frog. 
' ' But listen ! As I came along through the 
forest I heard a great chattering among the 
monkeys, and I stopped to hear what it was 
all about. 

' ' One little monkey sat crying in the midst 
of them, and the others were all saying, 
'You know you tried to steal — ' " 

But the adder had rolled over so that one 
ear lay close to the ground, and he had stuck 
the end of his tail in the other ear. Of course 
he couldn't hear another word of what the 
frog was saying. 

"Dear me!" said the frog, looking very 
much offended. ' ' That is a great way to 
treat a friend, I am sure." And he hopped 
off into the rushes. 

Presently a wasp flew down by the adder's 
home and settled upon a leaf near by. 

' ' Good morning, ' ' said the adder politely. 
" What a beautiful day this is." 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 151 

'^ Yes," buzzed the wasp, ''it's nice today, 
but there 's sure to be a storm — " 

But the adder had rolled over so that one 
ear lay close to the ground, and he had stuck 
the end of his tail into the other ear. 

' ' Well, I declare, ' ' buzzed the wasp 
angrily. ' ' What an impertinent fellow. ' ' 
And she flew away as fast as ever she could. 

The adder straightened himself out and 
went about his work once more, thinking as 
he did so how bright the sunlight was, and 
how soft and warm the air felt, and how beau- 
tifully the birds were singing. 

Presently a little brown spider dropped a 
thread from her web and ran down to the 
adder's doorway. 

'' Good morning," she said. " I have come 
to invite you to a forest revel. Why are you 
always so quiet? You should come with us 
and not mind what the sober workers tell 
you. We will have music and dancing and 
wine and song — " 

But the adder had rolled over so that one 
ear lay close to the ground and he had stuck 
the end of his tail into the other ear. 

' ' Such manners ! ' ' exclaimed the spider, 
and she climbed the thread back to her web. 



152 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

And so it came about that the small people 
of the forest began to have this saying 
amongst them, ' * He 's as deaf as an adder. ' ' 

The North Star* 

Three Ojibway hunters had been out hunt- 
ing for meat many days; it was in a new 
place. The woods were very thick, but there 
were no deer in them. The hunters had noth- 
ing to eat ; they had no water, for there was 
none ; they were lost in the thick forest. 

The hunters sat down and smoked the pipe 
of peace. They offered the smoke to the Man- 
itous who might live in the woods. They 
asked the Manitous to help them. The day 
sun was gone and there was no night sun. 

The chief covered his head with his blanket 
and chanted : ' ' Our wigwams will see us 
no more. "We will stay here forever. We can 
go no further." 

A little Pukwudjinnie came out of a hol- 
low tree when the chief had chanted his story. 
The Little One was like a little papoose, but 
he was very old and knew very much. 

* An Ojibway legend from Wigwam Stories, by Mary 
Catherine Judd (Oinn and Company), By permission of the 
author and publishers. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 153 

He said : "I will help the hunters. I will 
show you the trail. ' ' 

He pulled the thick bushes apart, and the 
hunters followed. He found the trail and 
soon came upon a herd of deer feeding in the 
bush. The hunters shot two deer and ate 
much meat; they were stronger after they 
had eaten the meat. The Little One did not 
eat ; he was not hungry. 

There was no rain, and the hunters had 
no water ; they lost their strength and could 
not walk on the trail. The Pukwudjinnie 
left them ; then the hunters put their blank- 
ets over their heads and sat down. They 
said no words. They could not smoke the 
pipe of peace, for their strength was all gone. 

The Little One came back with a deer- 
skin full of drink for them; he poured it 
into their mouths; it was not water; it was 
like no drink they ever had before. They 
became very strong and wanted nothing more 
to eat or drink for more than one moon. 

He led them on a long trail, to the land of 
his Little People; he took them to his own 
chief. The chief was like a little papoose, but 
he knew all the trails in the forest. He knew 
all the trails in the sky. 



154 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

The little chief showed the Ojibway chief 
the star in the north, the star that never 
moves. The little chief showed them how to 
watch this star and not lose their trail. He 
found their lost trail for them and sent them 
home. 

The three hunterns came back to their own 
wigwams. They talked in the council and 
showed their people the star that never 
moves. 

Other nations and tribes know this star 
now, but the Ojibways believe that their peo- 
ple were the first to know where to find it 
in the Great Blue Wigwam. 

The Cobbler* 

Once upon a time there lived a cobbler who 
sat day after day in his shop, working away 
at his cobbler's last — just making shoes. 

After a time he came to think that because 
he had made so very many pairs of shoes, he 
knew more about them than anybody else in 
the world. 

He grew quite puffed up with pride, and 
was always looking for some way of showing 
his knowledge. 

* Original adaptation of an old legend. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 155 

One day as he was walking in the public 
square of the town, he saw a statue which 
had been made by a great artist. And he 
discovered — ha-ha-ha — he discovered that 
the shoe-latchet of the statue was not made 
just right. 

'* Aha, aha! " he said, and his chest swelled 
with pride and delight. ''Here is a statue 
made by a great artist — but he does not 
know how a shoe-latchet is made. Surely, I 
am greater than he ! " 

Then he began to look the statue over 
to see what other mistakes he might find. 
And after a while it seemed to him that the 
legs of the statue were not shaped just 
right, either. 

" I will go to the Lord Mayor of the town," 
he said to himself, ' '■ and order the statue 
removed from our public square." 

So he went to the Lord Mayor's palace, 
and when he came into the Lord Mayor's 
presence, he said, ' ' May it please your 
Honor, I have discovered great errors in 
the statue which is in our public square, and 
I have come to petition your Honor to have 
it removed." 

Then the Lord Mayor looked the cobbler 



156 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

over gravely, and asked, *' Can you make a 
better statue to put in its place? " 

At that the cobbler turned quite red and 
stanunered, " Oh, no, your Honor; but I can 
make a better shoe-latchet." 

"Then, Sir Cobbler," replied the Lord 
Mayor, "I would advise you to stick to 
your last." 

Opechee the Robin Redbreast* 

A great hunter among the Chippewas, or 
Ojibways, wanted his son to secure a pow- 
erful spirit to protect him in war and all 
danger. To gain the help of the strong Man- 
itou the boy must fast twelve days. 

Many Indian boys can do this, but not all. 
Many try and fail. 

The boy did as his father commanded, for 
when the time came he went into the secret 
lodge in the deep forest and laid himself 
down alone on the mat his mother had woven 
for him. He did not fear, but his strength 
was weak. All night he lay there alone. 

In the morning his father came and asked 

* Schoolcraft. From Wigwam Stories, by Mary Catherine 
Judd (Ginn and Company). By permission of the author 
and publishers. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 157 

him if the strong spirit had come to him in 
his dreams. The boy shook his head. No 
dreams had come to him. 

Each day for ten days the father came to 
the little lodge in the wilderness and asked 
his son if the strong Maniton had come to 
him. 

* ' It is not for me to have such dreams, 
my father, I am not brave. The strong Man- 
iton will not come to me. Let me give up 
my fast." 

' * If you give up now, the Manitou will 
never come. Hunger makes my son weak, 
but his heart is strong. It is only a short 
time more to wait. Then my son shall be 
the strongest of all." 

The Indian boy covered his face and lay 
still upon the mat. He would obey his 
father. 

On the morning of the eleventh day 
the boy saw his father enter the wigwam. 
He slowly turned his face toward him and 
whispered : '' Let me break my fast ; I have 
no dreams." 

''Tomorrow I will bring you food. To- 
morrow you shall come to the lodge of your 
father." 



158 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

The boy closed his eyes and said no more. 
He was very weak and faint. 

The next morning the father went with the 
earliest morning light to the little lodge in 
the forest. Peeping through the door he saw 
his son sitting np. Beside his mat were 
brushes and paint. He was painting him- 
self red and brown. 

" The Manitou will free me, but it is not 
the spirit my father wanted," he heard the 
boy say. 

The father rushed into the lodge, but as 
he touched his boy the lad changed into a 
bird and flew out of the open doorway. Sit- 
ting on the top of the lodge he sang these 
words : 

' ' Do not mourn for me, my father, for I 
am happy. I did not want to be a warrior. 
I wanted only to be free. I shall find food 
upon the fields and the hills. I will com- 
fort you." Then he flew away. 

Opechee lives near the homes of men. He 
loves to comfort them when they are sad. 
He is happy when they are happy. 

His songs are for the little children and 
for the fathers and mothers who want their 
little ones to be brave. Opechee is not afraid 



I 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 159 

in the storm, and many have heard him sing- 
ing just after the great thunder-birds had 
called to each other and the water was coming 
fast from the sky to find a place to hide in 
the ground. Opechee is brave, but not 
strong. 

The Country Cat * 

The big white cat trotting across the lawn 
with a rat in his mouth started Meriky on 
a story this afternoon. 

' ' Huh ! ' ' exclaimed Meriky, ' ' cats and 
mouses didn't used to be sich bad friends 
as dey is now. 

'' Once upon a time dey visited back an' 
forth like yo' ma an' Miz Paterson." 

''What made them fall out?" 

'' Hit come 'bout dis-er-way. 01' Miz Cat 
live in de country, but she mighty hongry 
to know 'bout town doin's. She tell round 
'mongst her friends 'bout greatly she's 
honin' to see de sights. 

' ' Middle of de night come little Mr. Gray 
Mouse knockin' on de door, and say he got 
a cousin go in' up to town, an' if Miz Cat 

* By Grace MacGowan Cooke, in the Delineator. B7 per- 
mission of the author and the publishers. 



i6o THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

still wantin' to see de sights, dis hyer cousin 
be proud to give her a lift. 

'* Den Miz Pussy Cat put on her bonnet 
an' put on her shawl, an' tuck her a poke 
full o' victuals an' started out wid Mr. 
Mouse. Mouses does dey travelin' by night 
an' de cat an' mouse travel all night and git 
to town de next day. 

* ' When dey come where all de people was, 
Mr. Mouse pick up his foot and run in a rat 
hole; but Miz Cat set down by de side de 
road for to eat the snack. 

*' She was a-sittin' dar, spreadin' out all 
dat good country sassige, and good country 
ham and sich truck, when a town cat come 
along past. 

' ' Dis hyer town cat was honghy ; he was 
all raggety same as de beggar man what yo' 
ma give a dinner to yisstiddy. He want Miz 
Cat's victuals mighty bad. ' M'lan ' ! ' he say, 
' whar you git dat pig mess ? ' 

'"Dat my snack,' say Miz Cat, mighty 
polite. * I brung hit wid me from home. 
Won't you jine, sir! ' 

*' Now, dat dar ol' hungry town cat want 
every bit of Miz Pussy Cat's snack. He 
never want to jine ; so he say, * Does dey 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL i6i 

really eat sich a mess as dat in de country 
whar you come from? ' 

'' ' Yes, indeed,' say de country cat, mighty 
glad to meet up wid town folks, an' larn 
town ways. 'Don't you eat sich in town? 
What you eat in town, anyhow? ' 

''De town cat look all 'bout. He boun' 
to sen' Miz Pussy Cat on a arrant dat '11 
take her 'way from dem good victuals. 
Eight den he see Mr. Mouse peep out a hole 
to ax Miz Cat how she come on. He boun' 
if Miz Cat git to runnin' after Mr. Swif ' Foot 
Mouse he have time to steal her dinner. 

" ' We eats mices,' he say, in de grandest 
way imaginable. ' You never will larn town 
ways tell you larn to eat mices ! ' 

' ' I done told you dat Miz Pussy Cat plumb 
crazy 'bout larnin' to do like town folks does. 
She h6p up and leave dat lunch, quick as you 
could wink — an' dat oP hongry town cat 
grab hit des' as quick. She run dat mouse 
plumb down all de way to de Co't House. 
Dar she ketch him, an' right dar she eat 
him — all but de squeak an' de teef. 

' ' Den, by dat, she got de taste ; and all 
cats been eatin' rats and mouses to dis good 
day." 



i62 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Legend of the Arbutus * 

An old tepee stood by a frozen river in 
the forest where there are many pine trees. 
The tops of the trees were white with snow. 
The tepee was almost covered with the snow. 
An old chief sat in this tepee ; his hair was 
like the icicles that hang from dead pine- 
tree branches ; he was very old. 

He was covered with furs. The floor of his 
tepee was covered with the skins of the bear 
and the elk. He had been a great hunter. 
His name was Peboan. Peboan was faint 
with hunger, and he was cold. He had been 
hunting for three days. He had killed noth- 
ing. All the moose, deer, and bear had gone. 
They had left no trail. Wabasso, the rabbit, 
had hidden in the bushes. There was no 
food, no meat, for Peboan, 

He called upon the great Menabozho for 
help. 

' * Come, Menabozho, come help Peboan, the 
chief of the winter Manitous. Come, for 
Mukwa, the bear, has gone from me. Come, 
or Peboan must go to the far north to find 

* Chippewa. From Wigwam Stories, by Mary Catherine 
Judd (Ginn and Company). By permission of author and 
publishers. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 163 

Mahto, the white bear. Peboan is old, and 
his feet are weary." 

Peboan crawled on his knees over the furs 
to the little fire in the middle of the tepee. 
He blew on the coals with his faint breath, 
and the coals grew very red. His breath 
was like a wind; the coals made the wind 
warm like a south wind. The deerskins that 
covered the tepee trembled like leaves, for 
the warm wind blew them. 

Peboan sat on the furs on the floor of his 
tepee and waited. He knew Menabozho 
would hear him. 

Peboan heard no sound, but he looked 
toward the door of his tepee. It was lifted 
back, and he saw a beautiful Indian maiden. 

She carried a great bundle of willow buds 
in her arms. Her dress was of sweet grass 
and early maple leaves. Her eyes were like 
a young deer. Her hair was like the black- 
est feathers of a crow, and it was so long that 
it was like a blanket over her shoulders. She 
was small ; her feet were hidden in two moc- 
casin flowers. 

''Menabozho heard Peboan, the winter 
Manitou. He has sent me. I am Segun." 

' ' You are welcome, Segun. Sit by my fire ; 



i64 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

it is warm. I have no meat. Sit down and 
tell me what yon can do." 

'' Peboan may tell first," said Segun. 

Peboan said : * ' I am a winter Maniton ; 
I blow my breath, and the flowers die. The 
waters stand still; the leaves fall and die. 

Segnn said : "I am a summer Maniton ; 
I blow my breath, and the flowers open their 
eyes. The waters follow me on my trail. ' ' 

Peboan said : "I shake my hair, and the 
snow falls on the mountains, like the feathers 
of Waubese, the great white swan." 

Segun said : ' ' I shake my hair, and warm 
rain falls from the clouds. I call, and the 
birds answer me. The trees put on their 
leaves, and the grass grows thick like the 
fur of the bear. The summer sky is my tepee. 
Menabozho has said that the time has come 
for you to go. " 

Peboan 's head bent over on his shoulder. 
The sun melted the snow on the pine trees ; 
it melted the snow on the tepee. Segun 
waved her hands over Peboan, and a strange 
thing happened. 

Peboan grew smaller and smaller. His 
deer-skin clothes turned to leaves and cov- 
ered Peboan on the ground. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 165 

Segun looked, but Peboan was gone. She 
took some flowers from her hair and hid them 
under the leaves on the ground. There was 
ice on the leaves, but it did not hurt the pink 
flowers. Segun breathed on the flowers, and 
they became sweet. 

She said: ''I go, but the flowers shall 
stay to tell of Segun 's visit to Peboan. The 
children shall find them and know that Segun 
has sent Peboan away. It shall be so each 
time the snows melt and the rivers begin 
to run. This flower shall tell that spring has 
come." 

Peboan 's tepee was sweet with the breath 
of the flowers, but Segun was gone. 

Why the Dog Cannot Endure the Cat, Nor the 
Cat the Mouse* 

Long years ago it was the custom to give 
the dog all the meat that fell from the mas- 

* Original adaptation from the folk-lore of South Sla- 
vonia. There is another and different version of "Why the 
Dog and Cat Are Enemies ' ' under the title, * ' The Enchanted 
Wine Jug," in Stories to Tell (A. Flanagan Company), 
compiled by the author of this book. Stories of animals 
are always of interest to children, and the more familiar 
the animals the greater the child's interest in the story. 
These two versions of the above story, I have found are 
not generally known to either teachers or children, for they 
seem to have been generally overlooked in the many collec- 
tions of folk-tales. 



i66 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

ter's table. But one day wlien all the dogs 
met in council, one of them said, ' * It might 
be a wise plan to have an agreement drawn 
up for the dogs and their masters to sign. 

'^ Some time," said he, '* one of our mas- 
ters might drink too much wine, or get into 
a rage, and forbid us to have the meat. And 
then what could we do? It is best to be on 
the safe side, ' ' and he shook his head sagely. 

'' That is a very good plan," agreed the 
other dogs. '' Let us carry it out at once." 

So the secretary of the dogs' council drew 
up a document and wrote it upon parchment. 
It stated that all the dogs of every country 
were entitled to the meat that fell from their 
masters' tables. It was a very carefully 
worded document, and it was written out in 
the most learned form by the lawyer of the 
council. 

Then the secretary took the parchment, 
rolled it up and went about the whole land 
until it had been signed by all the masters of 
dogs. 

The parchment was then given to the King 
of the Dogs, to be carefully kept. 

The King of the Dogs gave the parchment 
to his private secretary, the Tomcat, telling 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 167 

Mm that it was a very important document, 
and must be put away with, the greatest care. 

Tomcat took the parchment and went 
softly away to the garret, where he hid the 
precious document behind a beam. 

For a long time there was no need of 
bringing out the parchment, for all the mas- 
ters did as they had agreed, and the dogs 
fared well. 

But one day it happened that Master Miller 
had a new cook who was very careless, and 
when this cook brought in a prime roast of 
beef, he let it slip from the platter to the 
floor. 

Instantly it was seized upon by Dog Tro- 
phy, who started off with it. 

But Master Miller was in no mood to lose 
his dinner, and he snatched the roast from 
Dog Trophy, telling him that he was a thief. 
Then he rubbed Dog Trophy's paw with hot 
ashes to teach him not to steal. 

Dog Trophy's heart burned with indigna- 
tion, and his paw burned with the hot ashes, 
and he went away on three legs as fast as 
ever he could to the King of the Dogs. 

"When he reached the King's house, he set 
forth his case. 



i68 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

*' Bring out the official parchment," called 
the King, when Dog Trophy had told his 
story. 

Tomcat ran quickly to the garret, sprang 
to the beam where he had tucked the precious 
document, and then set up a ' ' maou ' ' of 
anger and dismay. The mice had nibbled the 
valuable parchment into tiny scraps! 

Tomcat vowed, then and there, that no 
mouse should escape his claws from that day 
on. 

The King of the Dogs sent Tomcat away in 
disgrace, and the dogs agreed that thereafter 
they would chase a cat whenever they should 
see one. 

But, Dog Trophy lost his roast of beef. 

The Miser of Takhoma * 

Long, long ago. Miser lived near the foot 
of Takhoma. He never was happy. When 
food was scarce and the tribe were starving. 
Miser could find fish in secret places in the 
streams. When the snows were deep and the 
black-necked elk hid in the dark places of the 
forest, he could still secure meat. His skill 

* From Myths and Legends of the Pacific Northwest, by 
Katharine B. Judson (A. C. MeClurg & Co.). (Abridged.) 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 169 

as a hunter and fisherman was known to all 
his tribe. But Miser cared only for hiaqua, 
or shell money. Now Moosmoos, the elk, was 
Miser's tomanowos, or guardian spirit. 
Therefore, he tried to talk with the elk, even 
while hunting them. He wanted more 
hiaqua. 

One night Moosmoos whispered to Miser 
the secret hiding-place of the hiaqua of the 
tomanowos. The hiding-place was high up 
on Takhoma. Early in the morning. Miser 
began to make ready for his search. He sent 
his klootchman, or squaw, to dig camas 
roots. Thus he could work secretly. He 
made two elkhorn picks by taking off all the 
prongs except the upper ones. He filled his 
ikta, or bag, with kinnikinnick, and with dried 
salmon. At sunset Miser began to climb the 
mountain. 

All night he climbed the trail. All the 
next day he climbed. By night again he was 
above the snow line, cold and tired and hun- 
gry. When the moon arose, he climbed again. 
Over vast snow fields, across wide cracks in 
the ice, over the slippery shoulders of the 
lower peaks he climbed. At sunrise he 



170 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

reached the top. Now Takhoma was the 
home of the tomanowos, therefore, Miser was 
afraid. But Moosmoos had told him where 
the hiaqua was hidden. 

In the white snow field which covered the 
crater was a black lake. Beyond it were 
three stones of equal height, all as tall as a 
giant. The top of the first was shaped like 
a salmon's head, the top of the second was 
like a camas root, and the third like an elk's 
head. Then Miser believed the voice of 
Moosmoos. 

Miser threw down his ikta. He unwrapped 
his elk-horn pick. Then he began to dig in 
the snow at the foot of the elk's head. 

Miser struck the first blow. As an echo 
he heard a sudden puff. Startled, he turned 
to see a huge otter climbing out of the black 
waters of the lake. Big Otter struck his tail 
with a loud thump on the snow. Another 
otter appeared, then another. At last twelve 
otters gathered in a circle around their huge 
leader. They formed a circle around Miser, 
digging with his pick at the foot of the elk's 
head. Then Big Otter leaped to the top of 
the elk's head. All the others gave a loud 
puff. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 171 

Miser kept digging. At every tMrteentH 
blow of the pick Big Otter thmnped with 
his tail on the elk's head. Then the circle 
of twelve thumped with theirs on the snow. 

Miser became tired and stopped digging 
for a moment. Big Otter turned on the elk's 
head. "With his tail he struck Miser on the 
shoulder. Then the twelve turned, walked 
backward, and struck him with their tails. 
Miser began to dig again. 

As he dug in the rock, his pick broke. Big 
Otter jumped from the elk's head. He seized 
the second pick in his mouth and gave it to 
him. 

Miser dared not stop. With each thir- 
teenth blow of the pick and the thump of 
the tails, the otters came nearer. He could 
feel their breath as he lifted the last stone. 
Beneath lay a great hole, filled with hiaqua. 
As he lifted out the shells, the otters re- 
turned to their larger circle. 

Miser lifted out handful after handful of 
the shell money. He strung the hiaqua on elk 
sinews, twenty strings in all. The rest he 
covered again. He hurried, for it was after 
noon and he must return below the snow line. 
Then Miser left the elk's head. He offered 



172 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

no shells to Moosmoos or to Sahale. He had 
forgotten the tomanowos. 

As he crossed the crater, the otters, one 
by one, with a lond puff, jumped into the 
black lake. They began to beat the black 
water with their tails. He heard them beat 
the water as he plunged through the snow 
to the edge of the crater. Miser felt that the 
shells were very heavy. 

As he stepped over the edge of the crater, 
he glanced back. The three stones had van- 
ished. A thick mist rose from the black 
waters of the lake. Under the mist was a 
black cloud, hiding the water. Miser feared 
tomanowos in the clouds. 

Then the storm seized him. It flung him 
over an ice bank. The blackness of all dark- 
ness lay around him. Colenass, the storm 
god, came down upon the mountain. Tootah, 
the thunder, deafened him with its roar. The 
storm crashed about him. Fiery blasts 
melted the snow into great torrents. Icy 
winds froze them solid again. In the roar 
and thunder. Miser heard the voices of all 
the tomanowos, * * Ha, ha, hiaqua I Ha, ha, 
hiaqua ! ' * 

Miser threw away a string of hiaqua. The 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 173 

storm slackened for a moment. Then all be- 
gan louder than ever. Kakahete screamed, 
* ' Ha, ha, hiaqua ! Ha, ha, hiaqna ! ' ' 

One by one Miser threw away the strings 
of hiaqna, strung on the sinews of Moosmoos, 
the elk. Always the tomanowos screamed 
after him. Then when the last string was 
gone, with a last gust the storm blew him 
down, flat upon the ground. 

Miser slept a long time. When he awoke, 
Takhoma glistened above him, shining white 
in the sunlight. All around him grew camas 
roots. Eocky ridges lay where once the for- 
est had stretched. Sunny meadows lay 
around him. Miser stretched himself and 
arose. Only dry leaves and dead grass re- 
mained in the rotted ikta. Miser wondered. 
Then he went down the mountain side. He 
ate berries for food until he came to a cabin 
in the valley. There lived a very old woman. 
He talked with her and found she was his 
klootchman. Klootchman said he had slept 
thirty snows. Miser looked at himself in a 
pool. He was very old. His hair was white. 
Many, many snows had the angry tomanowos 
made him sleep. But Miser was happy. He 
no longer cared for hiaqua. 



174 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 
Little Sister Kindness and the Loving Stitches * 

Once, when the world was new, there lived 
a beautiful princess whose father was the 
King of Forgotten Land. The King loved 
his daughter very much, but he was a very 
wise King; the more he loved the Princess, 
the more he realized that she must learn 
obedience, and many other hard lessons. 

The King knew that if he allowed his little 
daughter to be worshipped as many Prin- 
cesses are, her face would grow hard and 
full of ugly lines, so the wee Princess was 
taught to divide her treasures, and to care 
for the poor in her father's kingdom. And 
so, instead of growing hard and selfish, the 
King's daughter grew lovelier every day, and 
she was known as Princess Tender-heart. 

At last, when the Princess had grown, 
there came a Prince from the land of Bye- 
and-Bye, to marry the Princess Tender-heart. 
For a wedding gift he presented her with 
five hundred and forty-three mansions, sur- 
rounding his palace. And the Princess was 
to give these mansions to the friends she 
loved best, so that she should not be lonely 

* By Frances Margaret Fox in Little Folks (S. E. Cas- 
sino Company). By permission of the publishers. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 175 

when she went with the Prince to live in the 
land of Bye-and-Bye. 

But one day the King found his daughter 
very unhappy, and when he begged her to 
tell him why she was in tears, she said that 
she had given away five hundred and forty- 
two mansions, but she still had many friends, 
and she did not know what to do with the one 
mansion that remained. It was the one which 
stood the very nearest to the palace of the 
Prince. 

Then the wise King said, ' ' There, there ! 
We '11 settle this matter easily. That one 
home shall go to the one who loves you best." 

" But how — ," began the Princess. 

' ^ Never mind how, ' ' interrupted her 
father, and then they both laughed so mer- 
rily that all the canary birds in the kingdom 
began to sing. 

The very next day the King of Forgotten 
Land issued a proclamation which set all the 
people to talking. 

Among those who read the copy that was 
posted outside the palace gates was a maiden 
known as Little Sister Kindness. 

** So the Princess is to be married one 
month from today," she exclaimed. Then, 



176 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

turning, she saw a blind man standing by, 
who had no one with him to tell him what the 
King's message contained. 

Little Sister Kindness stepped to his side 
and explained to him the contents of the 
proclamation. 

** The Princess Tender-heart is to be mar- 
ried," she said, '* and instead of having her 
wedding garments made by the court dress- 
maker, the King wishes everyone who loves 
the Princess to come to the palace and help 
make her clothes. To the one whose work 
proves that she loves the Princess best, shall 
be given the finest gift house of the five hun- 
dred and forty-three presented by the Prince 
of Bye-and-Bye. " 

*' I beg you to tell me more," urged the 
blind man. '' My daughter is a dressmaker. 
How shall it be known who best loves the 
Princess? " 

* * How fortunate that your daughter is a 
dressmaker ! ' ' exclaimed Little Sister Kind- 
ness. ' ' I wish that I were a dressmaker, too. 
The King announces that by examining the 
wardrobe when it is completed he will know 
at a glance who best loves Her Royal High- 
ness. Everyone adores the Princess, so only 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 177 

by magic will the King know who loves her 
best." 

" I thank yon," the blind man said with a 
low bow. *' I mnst hasten now to tell my 
daughter this good news." 

''And I mnst hasten, too," agreed Little 
Sister Kindness, ^' for I have many friends 
who are skillful with the needle, and I must 
carry the news to each one." 

From that hour the sewing room of the 
palace became a busy, bustling place. For 
the seamstresses, and the embroiderers, and 
the lace-makers came from all parts of the 
kingdom, to sew upon the wardrobe of the. 
Princess Tender-heart. 

One day, a week later, Little Sister Kind- 
ness called at the palace with a message for 
a friend who was a noted lace-maker. And 
while she waited she watched the busy work- 
ers, and heard them talking. It did not take 
her long to discover that each worker was 
striving to make some great piece of work 
which should attract the attention of the 
King, and that each was eager to secure the 
most showy garment to work upon. She saw, 
too, that the lace-makers used knots in the 
end of the threads, and that the stitches which 



178 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

would not show, were carelessly made and 
finished. 

Finally, Little Sister Kindness became so 
distressed by what she saw in the workroom 
that she begged to stay. 

' ' But, what can you do ? " inquired the 
manager of the wardrobe. 

' ' Nothing that will count, ' ' replied Little 
Sister Kindness, ' ' but I can tie loose ends of 
threads, and darn little holes neatly, and fin- 
ish seams inside and — " 

' ' There, there ! ' ' exclaimed the manager 
of the wardrobe. ' * Do get a needle and be- 
gin. I have been so worried lest the Princess 
should not have one perfect garment." 

So Little Sister Kindness began her work 
and was soon the busiest maiden in the pal- 
ace. Scarcely a garment escaped her loving 
fingers. Everything needed a little stitch 
here and a little stitch there; a button and 
button-hole in place of a pin ; a bit of trim- 
ming to be firmly fastened; a bow to be 
sewed securely in place ; always a stitch here 
and a stitch there ; never a piece of work that 
would show; not so much as a collar or a 
belt that the King might say, " Ah ! This 
was made by Little Sister Kindness. ' ' 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 179 

There were days wlien the maiden felt dis- 
couraged and wished that she, too, might be 
doing something worth while for love of the 
beautiful Princess. But the unfinished seams 
and the hastily caught bows kept her too 
busy to grow dissatisfied, and she knew that 
she was not skillful enough to fashion beau- 
tiful garments, or make filmy bits of lace. 

At last, when the wardrobe was completed, 
the King gave a banquet to which all in the 
kingdom were invited. Then, in the presence 
of his subjects, he walked into the great hall 
where all the wardrobe was displayed. Some 
of the garments were of linen, some of silk, 
some of satin, and others of lace ; and when 
the King appeared each robe began to glow 
with a soft light, and to shine with a hundred 
little stars; here a star and there a star. 

" Oh, oh! " exclaimed all the people, " oh, 
oh, oh! There are tiny gold stitches shin- 
ing like stars on every garment. "Why do 
those stitches shine like golden stars! Who 
put them there! WTiose are the golden 
stitches! '* 

'* Those are the stitches of the one who 
loves the Princess best ! ' ' the King made 
answer. 



i8o THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Then came a low wondering mnrmiir from 
all who had worked upon the royal wardrobe, 
and the murmur sounded like sweet music 
that sang over and over: 

' ' Little Sister Kindness I It is Little Sis- 
ter Kindness! " 

So it came about that Little Sister Kind- 
ness and her family went to live in the home 
that was nearest the palace of the Prince 
and Princess in Bye-and-Bye, and there they 
all lived happily ever after. 



The Queen's Necklace* 

Once upon a time there lived an old king 
whom you could not very well call good, in 
fact he was very disagreeable and horrid. 

Now, in his old age, the king had a fancy 
for marrying and he cast his eye over his 
many kingdoms to spy out a suitable wife 
for himself. 

In this way his eye fell upon quite a young 
princess who was called Blanzeflor. 

* * She is as fair as a sunny day, as mild as a 
dove, and as meek as a lamT>, and she is only 

* Abridged from Jolly Calle, by Helena Nyblom (J. M. 
Dent and Sons, London). 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL i8i 

seventeen years old, too! She will suit me 
admirably," said the king. 

But when her father came to her and said : 

* ' Blanzeflor, our sovereign lord, the king, 
would have you for his queen," she wept and 
said she would rather sit upon a stone and 
spin goats' wool, than sit as queen at that 
king's side. 

But when her father said that she must 
realize that if she refused the king he would 
come and hang both her father and mother 
and all the family upon a tree like so many 
bunches of onions, then the princess bowed 
her head and said, '' Then I will marry him." 

So they clad her in silk and in gold, and 
set a crown upon her head and combed her 
long golden hair over her shoulders, then 
they lifted her upon a white palfrey and rode 
forth with her to the king, and thus the wed- 
ding took place. 

On her wedding day the king hung a neck- 
lace of pearls around her neck. 

* * I threaded them myself on this silken 
cord," said the king. ** These are pearls of 
the East and there are three hundred and 
sixty-five of them, the smallest being a little 
crooked; and I warn you," he added, *' take 



i82 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

great care of them, for on the day you lose 
the necklace, I warrant you will not care to 
look me in the eyes;" and the king began 
to roll his eyes so horribly that the young 
queen felt cold shivers all down her spine. 
Thus Blanzeflor became queen. 

Every morning the king ate porridge and 
cream in bed, and the queen carried it to 
him in a golden bowl and fed him like a baby, 
for such was his command. Every evening 
the king and queen would play chess, and 
then the queen always had to let the king 
win, otherwise he would get bad-tempered. 

But the very worst was at mealtime, for the 
king was so proud he would not let anyone 
sit at table with the queen and himself. The 
young queen would sit with downcast eyes, 
scarcely daring to swallow a morsel, so 
greatly did she tremble for fear lest some- 
thing should displease the king, for then he 
became quite terrible. 

The only pleasure the court had was to 
stand and stare at Blanzeflor, for she glowed 
with a beauty more bright and radiant than 
all the torchlights in the banqueting hall, and 
when she bowed and smiled it warmed the 
heart like the sun in summer. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 183 

Now, dreadful stories came to tlie queen's 
ears of how the king would fling people into 
prison for the smallest offence, or wring their 
necks like chickens ; but alas ! what could she 
do in the matter? She, herself, sat like a 
prisoner in the royal castle, and never was 
she allowed to go out on foot but only on 
horseback followed by a royal retinue and 
closely guarded. 

It happened one day, however, that the 
queen was in church — there at least the king 
could not prevent her from going — and as 
she knelt in prayer before the high altar, she 
noticed how meanly and poorly God's holy 
altar was adorned. 

Then the queen wept bitterly and said to 
herself: '* I drink out of golden goblets, and 
silver torches are lighted on my table, but 
upon God's altar the candlesticks are of 
pewter and the velvet cloth which covers the 
Lord's table is all faded and patched. I can- 
not bear to see it." And thexeupon she 
slowly and carefully unclasped her necklace, 
drew off seven of the largest pearls and 
laid them upon the altar. 

That evening she had her hair combed back 
and fastened in a knot upon her neck, so 



i84 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

that the king might not see that the pearls 
were missing. 

Now it happened one night that the queen 
lay awake. She could not sleep because she 
thought she heard strange sounds of sighing 
and sobbing out in the night. It all sounded 
so piteous and heartrending that the queen 
wept upon her silken pillow. ' ' Here I lie 
upon my bed of satin," she sighed, '' whilst 
outside, perhaps little children go barefooted 
In the snow. I cannot bear to think of it.'* 

There was a sound of twittering and chirp- 
ing, and now she saw how one little half- 
frozen bird after another flew up and tapped 
upon the window-pane with its beak, in search 
of a chance grain of corn. 

"Alas, alas!" sighed the queen, **I eat 
roast venison out of a golden dish and drink 
mulled wine, and there outside the poor little 
birds starve to death in the cold. I cannot 
bear to think of it ; " and the next day she 
begged leave of the king to collect the crumbs 
after meals and to place them in a basket out- 
side her window for the birds. 

Well, of course the king thought it was 
asking a good deal, but as the queen never 
begged for anything for herself, and the 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 185 

crumbs were, after all, of not much use for 
anything else, he allowed her to take them, 
and from that day the queen always sat and 
rolled bread between her white fingers during 
meals, and crumbled one little piece after an- 
other into little bits, whilst she chatted and 
jested with the king, so that he might not 
pay any heed to what she was doing, and 
when she rose from the table she would sign 
to her page, and then he would brush all the 
crumbs into a small basket which was hung 
outside the queen's chamber window, and at 
sunrise she was always awakened by the 
chirping of the small hungry birds when they 
came to empty her basket. 

Now it happened one morning when the 
queen took in her basket to have it refilled, 
that she thought she saw a large snowflake 
lying at the bottom, but it was really a little 
piece of paper which had been folded around 
a small stone and thrown up at the window, 
and on it was written an appealing tale of 
misery. 

' ' The queen who takes pity upon the starv- 
ing birds of the air, ' ' it said, ' ' will surely 
take pity upon the starving children upon 
earth ; ' ' and the queen read it over and over 



i86 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

again, whilst her tears fell like rain in 
spring. 

But, how could she help them'? At last she 
hit upon a plan. 

The king had given the queen a page, who 
was as young and beautiful as herself. He 
carried her long velvet train embroidered 
with golden crowns, he filled her goblet with 
wine, and lit the torch which was to light 
her upon her way through the dark passages 
of the castle, and he slept on a bear skin 
outside her door with his drawn sword be- 
side him to protect her from all harm and 
danger. 

Now when the page came to carry the train 
of her sky-blue velvet gown, the queen bent 
down as if to adjust it, and at the same time 
she slipped a little piece of paper into the 
page 's hand. In it she had placed ane of the 
pearls from off her necklace, and had written 
down where she wished him to carry it. 

Away he flew as swiftly as a swallow, and 
when he took up the queen's train again that 
evening, he placed his hands upon his breast 
and bowed in silence, but the queen could 
read in his face that his errand had well 
sped. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 187 

From that day prayers and petitions sim- 
ply rained down upon the queen's window- 
sill. 

What could she do but take the pearls from 
her necklace? And so with trembling hands 
she drew off one pearl after another, and 
finally one morning there was not a single 
pearl left. 

The king was not in a good temper at din- 
ner that day, and he saw that the necklace 
was missing! 

' ' Where is the necklace ? " he shrieked. 
His voice sounded like the caw of a hoarse 
old crow. ''Where is the necklace? " 

The queen looked confused. 

' ' Oh, I have not got it on today, ' ' she 
said. But the king had her eight tire-women 
and her eight laides-in- waiting called up, and 
they had to search over and over through all 
the queen's drawers and presses, till they 
were as red as cranberries, but the necklace 
was not to be found. 

" Have you lost the necklace? " roared the 
king. 

' * No, ' ' said the queen, timidly. 

*' Have you given it away? " shouted the 
king. ''To whom have you given it? " 



188 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

The queen dropped her eyelids and said 
nothing. 

Then the king had the queen thrown into 
prison; there she was to remain until the 
necklace was found. 

Now you can imagine what a hurly-burly 
there was after this. The king in front, with 
six attendants at his heels, searched the whole 
castle from garret to cellar. But still the 
necklace was not to be found. 

Alas for the queen, poor young Blanzeflor! 
She sat in the darkest of dungeons. No one 
could get to her. 

She fell on her knees upon the straw ly- 
ing on the prison floor, and prayed to God 
that he might perform a miracle and set the 
guiltless free. 

' ' Thou, God, canst break through prison 
walls as easily as the sun breaks through the 
mists," she said. ''Thou canst also set an 
innocent prisoner free." 

But scarcely had she ended her prayer 
when she saw in the pale morning light how 
the thick prison walls fell apart, and be- 
tween them came a swallow flying, as easily 
and as quickly as if it were merely flying 
through the air. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 189 

In its beak it held a white pearl, which it 
dropped upon the queen's knees. 

* ' This is one of the tears you shed before 
the high altar," twittered the swallow, ** God 
gives it you back in the likeness of a pearl." 

At the same moment came another swal- 
low through the wall, and another and an- 
other, and in a twinkling the whole prison 
was filled with a flight of birds. 

Each had a white pearl in its beak, which it 
laid upon Blanzeflor's lap. 

* ' Here are the tears you shed for those 
who were poor and sad at heart," they 
chirped ; ' * not one has fallen in vain. ' ' 

At last came a little bird with a maimed 
wing ; in its beak was the little crooked pearl, 
for this, too, had been threaded on the neck- 
lace. 

Blanzeflor sat perfectly still and let the 
pearls lie upon her knees, for she could not 
touch them with her fettered hands. Then 
the sun rose red in the East and shone into 
the prison so that it streamed with light 
like heaven itself. 

But just then the king came in with all 
his retinue. He had come to take the queen 
away to be beheaded. But when he saw her 



igo THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

sitting with a halo of light around her and 
with the pearls in her lap, he stood stock- 
still with amazement. Then he began to 
count the pearls, and every single one was 
there, all three hundred and sixty-five, even 
to the little crooked one! But the silken 
cord on which they had been strung was 
missing. 

Away went the king hobbling up the stairs 
to his own apartments to fetch a new silken 
cord. He was afraid to ask anyone else to go 
for it because he feared they would steal 
something. 

When the king had snipped off his cord 
he hurried back so quickly down to the prison 
again, that he tripped over his own feet and 
fell and broke his neck, and there he lay 
dead on his way down to the dungeons where 
he had let so many innocent people suffer and 
pine to death. 

The king was buried, aisd the queen was 
proclaimed the only reigning sovereign in all 
the land. 

And never was there a gentler queen than 
she. If any one was in any trouble or dis- 
tress they simply said: 

' ' We shall go to the queen, there is sure 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 191 

to be one more pearl left on her Majesty's 
necklace ! ' ' 

Robin Hood and Sir Richard-at-the-Lee * 

Listen, and I will tell you about a good 
yeoman whose name was Eobin Hood. All 
his life he was a proud outlaw, but so cour- 
teous an outlaw as he was never found, and 
he would never do any harm to a company 
in which there was a woman, for he held all 
women in great respect and honor. 

Now one day Robin Hood stood in the for- 
est of Barnsdale and leant against a tree, 
and beside him stood his good yeoman, Little 
John, and Scarlet also, and Much, the miller's 
son. 

Then Little John spoke to Eobin, saying : 
' ' Master, 'tis time to dine. ' ' 

But Robin answered, " I will not dine till 
I have some bold baron or a knight or a 
squire with me who will pay for his dinner. ' ' 

Then Little John and Much and William 
Scarlet set out in search of a guest, and after 
a time they saw a knight riding towards them 
with his retinue. He made but a sorry ap- 

* From Stories from Old English Eomance, by Joyce Pol- 
lard (Frederick A. Stokes Company). By permission of the 
publishers. (Abridged.) 



192 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

pearance, and seemed to have lost his pride, 
for he had but one foot in the stirrup, and 
his hood hung down over his eyes, and his 
clothes and trappings were mean and old. 

But Little John showed him courtesy, and 
knelt before him saying: 

' ' Welcome, gentle knight ; welcome to the 
greenwood. My master has been waiting for 
you, fasting these three hours. ' ' 

*' Who is your master? " asked the knight; 
and John answered, " Eobin Hood." 

** He is a good yeoman," said the knight, 
** and I have heard men speak well of him." 

So the knight, whose name was Sir 
Eichard-at-the-Lee, rode on his way with 
Little John, till they came to where Eobin 
was waiting; and Eobin took off his hood 
and went on his knee, saying, courteously: 

' * Welcome, Sir Knight. I have awaited 
thee these three hours." 

And the gentle knight replied with fair 
words : 

*' God save thee, good Eobin, and all thy 
company." 

When they had thus exchanged greetings, 
they washed and wiped their hands, and sat 
them down to their dinner. They had bread 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 193 

and wine and venison, with swans and 
pheasants and many other birds. And Robin 
bade the knight make good cheer, and the 
knight thanked him heartily. 

< i ^Qj.^ 7 1 g^j(j YiQ^ < ' I have not had such 
a dinner for three weeks ; and if I come this 
way again, Robin, I will give thee as good 
a dinner as thou hast given me." 

' ' I thank thee, knight, ' ' said Robin ; ' ' but 
methinks it is right that thou shouldst pay 
ere thou goest. It was never the custom, 
by Heaven, for a yeoman to pay for a 
knight." 

But Sir Richard answered, ' ' I have naught 
in my coffers that I can offer thee for very 
shame. I have but ten shillings." 

To this Robin answered, " If thou hast no 
more, I will not take a penny; and if thou 
hast need of more I will lend it to thee." 

Then he called to Little John: 

* ' Go forth and see if there are but ten 
shillings in the knight's mantle." 

So Little John spread the mantle on the 
ground and searched in it ; and he found but 
ten shillings as the knight had said. 

Now Robin wondered at this, and said to 
Sir Richard: 



194 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

* * Surely thou must have been made a 
knight against thy will, if thou art so poor; 
or else thou hast been a bad husbandman, or 
a usurer, or hast done some evil or other." 

But the knight replied: 

*' I am none of these. My ancestors have 
been knights before me for a hundred years. 
But it has often happened that a knight has 
been disgraced through no fault of his own. 
Two years ago, Eobin, I could spend four 
hundred pounds yearly, and my neighbors 
will bear me witness of this. But now, alas ! 
it has come to pass that I have no property 
whatsoever." 

"And in what manner," asked Eobin, 
' ' didst thou lose thy riches f ' ' 

Then Sir Richard told Robin how his son 
had slain a knight in a joust, and how to save 
him he had put his lands in pawn to a rich 
abbot whose abbey was near at hand. The 
sum he had to pay to redeem them was four 
hundred pounds, and since he could not pay 
it, there was nothing left for him to do but 
to forfeit his lands and go on a pilgrimage 
to the Holy Land. For the men who had 
boasted of their friendship towards him when 
he was rich had now deserted him, so that he 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 195 

could find no one wlio was now willing to lend 
him any money. 

Eobin and his followers were moved to 
great pity by this tale, and Robin sent Little 
John to his treasury to fetch four hundred 
pounds to give to the knight. Then Little 
John cried : 

* ' Master, his apparel is full thin. Ye must 
give the knight a suit of clothes, for ye have 
scarlet and green-colored cloth in plenty, and 
there is no merchant in merry England so 
rich as ye are! " 

* * Give him three yards of each color, ' ' said 
Robin, ' ' and see you measure it fairly. ' ' 

So Little John took his bow as a measure 
and measured out the cloth, and then he 
turned to Robin Hood, saying : 

* ' Master, ye must give the knight a horse 
to carry home all this cloth." 

So Robin gave the knight a grey courser 
and a new saddle, and Much added a good 
palfrey, and Scarlet a pair of boots, and 
Little John a pair of gilt spurs. 

Then the knight asked what day he should 
come back to pay his debt, and Robin ap- 
pointed that day twelve-month. And as a 
last act of kindness, he sent his trusty yeo- 



196 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

man, Little John, to attend his guest on his 
journey. So Sir Eichard went on his way 
rejoicing and blessing Eobin Hood; and he 
redeemed his lands from the abbot's hands, 
and then returned home to his castle, and be- 
gan to collect money against the day when 
he should return to pay Eobin Hood the four 
hundred pounds. 

Now the year went by and the appointed 
day came, but the knight did not appear, be- 
cause as he rode on his way to the trysting- 
place he had turned aside for the love of 
Eobin to help a poor yeoman who was not 
receiving fair play in a wrestling match at 
some country games. When Eobin found, 
therefore, that the knight did not come, he 
sent forth Little John, Scarlet, and Much, to 
seek another guest to dine with him, one who 
would be able to pay him four hundred 
pounds; for though he would never rob a 
poor man, he did not think it wrong to make 
the rich pay poor men's debts. 

Before long the three trusty yeomen saw a 
monk riding towards them, followed by a ret- 
inue of fifty men, with seven strong pack- 
horses bearing his riches, and Little John 
cried : 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL I97 

'' Brethren, I dare lay my life that this is 
the man who shall pay onr master; and 
though we are but three against so many, we 
must bring him to dinner, or we cannot go 
back to Robin Hood.'* 

Then he called to the monk : 

' * Abide, and come no farther, for if thou 
dost I shall slay thee. Thou hast made our 
master wroth, because he has waited for thee 
fasting for so long.'* 

" Who is your master? " asked the monk. 

''EobinHood." 

*'He is a thief," said the monk, "and I 
have never heard aught good of him." 

But Little John answered: 

' ' Thou liest, and thou shalt repent it. He 
is a yeoman of the forest, and has bidden 
thee to dine with him." 

Then the yeomen drew their bows, and 
Much pointed his arrow straight at the 
monk's breast. 

At this all his followers turned and fled, 
save only a little page and a groom, who led 
the pack-horses to Robin Hood, while Much 
and Little John took the monk in custody be- 
tween them to their master. 

When Robin saw the monk he raised his 



igS THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

hood; but the monk was not so courteous, 
and did not return the greeting. 

Then Eobin sunmioned his yeomen, and 
they prepared the meal, and served the monk 
with his dinner ; and afterwards Robin asked, 
as was his custom, how much his„ guest had 
in his coffers. 

"Sir,'* said the monk, "but twenty 
pounds, as I hope to prosper." 

' * If there is no more, ' ' said Robin, * ' I 
will not take a penny; and if thou hast need 
of more I will lend it thee. But if I find more 
than twenty pounds thou wilt have to give 
it up." 

So Robin sent Little John to search the 
monk's mantle and there he found over eight 
hundred pounds. At this Robin rejoiced, for 
it was twice the sum that he needed to re- 
pay him for what he had generously lent the 
knight. 

But the monk was very wroth, and cried: 

' ' By Heaven, 'tis no courtesy to bid a man 
to dinner and then treat him so ill." 

* ' Nevertheless it is an old custom of ours 
to leave but little behind for our guests to 
take away with them," said Robin. 

Then the monk put spurs to his horse, for 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 199 

he feared to stay longer. But Robin cried 
after him: 

* * Will you not have a drink of wine be- 
fore you go ? " 

'*Nay," said the monk, **I would I had 
never come near you, for I should have dined 
far more cheaply at Blyth or Doncaster." 

* * Greet well your abbot and your prior for 
me," Robin called back, '' and bid them send 
me such a monk as you to dinner every day. ' ' 

So the monk rode away, leaving all his 
riches behind him ; and now at last the knight 
came riding into the greenwood, with all his 
merry company. When he saw Robin he 
alighted from his palfrey, doffed his hood, 
and fell on his knee, saying: 

** God save thee, Robin Hood, and all this 
company. ' ' 

* ' Welcome be thou, gentle knight, ' ' Robin 
answered. " Hast thou thy land again 1 " 

* * Yea, ' ' said the knight, ' ' and I thank 
Heaven and thee for it. But take it not amiss 
that I am come so late, for I have been at 
a wrestling match, where I helped a poor yeo- 
man who was not getting fair play in the 
game." 

"Sir knight," Robin answered, "I thank 



200 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

thee. Whoever helps a good yeoman will 
always be my friend. ' ' 

Now, when they had thus greeted each 
other the knight said : 

' * Here is thy four hundred pounds which 
thou didst lend me, and twenty pounds more 
for thy courtesy." 

"Nay, by Heaven,** cried Eobin, *'thou 
shalt keep it for thyself, for I have already 
received the money for the debt, and it would 
be a disgrace to take it twice." And he told 
the knight the story of the monk, and they 
laughed together over it and made good 
cheer. 

Thus Eobin Hood helped the knight out of 
all his troubles and they were friends from 
that time to the end of their days. 

How the Queen of the Sky Gave Gifts to Men * 

By the side of All-Father Odin, upon his 
high seat in Asgard, sat Frigga, his wife, 
the Queen of the Asas. Sometimes she would 
be dressed in snow-white garments, bound at 
the waist by a golden girdle, from which hung 
a great bunch of golden keys. And the earth- 

* From stories of Norse Heroes, by E. M, Wilmot-Buxton 
(Thomas Y. Crowell Company). By permission of the pub- 
lishers. (Abridged.) 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 201 

dwellers, gazing into the sky, would admire 
the great white clouds as they floated across 
the blue, not perceiving that these clouds were 
really the folds of Frigga's flowing white 
robe, as it waved in the wind. 

At other times she would wear dark gray 
or purple garments; and then the earth- 
dwellers made haste into their houses, for 
they said, ' ' The sky is lowering today, and 
a storm is nigh at hand." 

Frigga had a palace of her own called 
Fensalir, or the Hall of Mists, where she 
spent much of her time at her wheel spinning 
golden thread, or weaving web after web of 
many-colored clouds. All night long she sat 
at this golden wheel, and if you look at the 
sky on a starry night you may chance to see 
it set up where the men of the South show 
a constellation called the Girdle of Orion. 

Frigga was especially interested in all good 
housewives, and she herself set them an ex- 
cellent example in Fensalir. When the snow- 
flakes fell, the earth-dwellers knew it was 
Frigga shaking her great feather bed, and 
when it rained they said it was her washing 
day. It was she who first gave to them the 
gift of flax that the women upon earth might 



202 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

spin, and weave, and bleach their linen as 
white as the clouds of her own white robe. 

And this is how it came about : 

There was once a shepherd who lived 
among the mountains with his wife and chil- 
dren ; and so very poor was he that he often 
found it hard to give his family enough to 
satisfy their hunger. But he did not grum- 
ble; he only worked the harder; and his 
wife, though she had scarcely any furniture, 
and never a chance of a new dress, kept the 
house so clean, and the old clothes so well 
mended, that, all unknown to herself, she rose 
high in the favor of the all-seeing Prigga. 

Now one day, when the shepherd had driven 
his few poor sheep up the mountain to pas- 
ture, a fine reindeer sprang from the rocks 
above him and began to leap upward along 
the steep slope. The shepherd snatched up 
his crossbow and pursued the animal, think- 
ing to himself : ' ' Now we shall have a better 
meal than we have had for many a long 
day." 

Up and up leaped the reindeer, always just 
out of reach, and at length disappeared be- 
hind a great boulder just as the shepherd 
breathless and weary, reached the spot. No 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 203 

sign of the reindeer was to be seen, bnt, on 
looking around, the shepherd saw that he 
was among the snowy heights of the moun- 
tains, and ahnost at the top of a great 
glacier. 

Presently, as he pursued his vain search 
for the animal, he saw to his amazement an 
open door, leading apparently into the heart 
of the glacier. He was a fearless man, and 
so, without hesitation, he passed boldly 
through the doorway and found himself 
standing in a marvelous cavern, lit up by 
blazing torches which gleamed upon rich 
jewels hanging from the roof and walls. And 
in the midst stood a woman, most fair to 
behold, clad in snow-white robes and sur- 
rounded by a group of lovely maidens. 

The shepherd's boldness gave way at this 
awesome sight, and he sank to his knees 
before the Asa, Frigga, for she it was. But 
Frigga bade him be of good cheer, and said : 
'• Choose now whatsoever you will to carry 
away with you as a remembrance of this 
place." 

The shepherd's eyes wandered over the 
glittering jewels on the walls and roof, but 
they came back to a little bunch of blue 



204 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

flowers which Frigga held in her hand. They 
alone looked homelike to him; the rest were 
hard and cold; so he asked timidly that he 
might be given the little nosegay. 

Then Frigga smiled kindly upon him. 

**Most wise has been your choice," said 
she. '* Take with the flowers this measure 
of seed and sow it in your field, and you 
shall grow flowers of your own. They shall 
bring prosperity to you and yours." 

So the shepherd took the flowers and the 
seed, and scarcely had he done so when a 
mighty peal of thunder, followed by the shock 
of an earthquake, rent the cavern, and when 
he had collected his sense he found himself 
once more upon the mountain side. 

"When he reached home and had told his 
tale, his wife scolded him roundly for not 
bringing home a Jewel which would have 
made them rich forever. But when she 
would have thrown the flowers away he pre- 
vented her. Next day he sowed the seed in 
his field, and was surprised to find how far 
it went. 

Very soon after this the field was thick 
with tiny green shoots ; and though his wife 
reproached him for wasting good ground 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 205 

Tipon useless flowers, he watched and waited 
in hope until the field was blue with the starry- 
flax blooms. 

Then one night, when the flowers had 
withered and the seed was ripe, Frigga, in 
the disguise of an old woman, visited the 
lowly hut and showed the shepherd and his 
astonished wife how to use the flax stalks; 
how to spin them into thread, and how to 
weave the thread into linen. 

It was not long before all the dwellers in 
that part of the earth had heard of the won- 
derful material, and were hurrying to the 
shepherd's hut to buy the bleached linen or 
the seed from which it was obtained. And 
so the shepherd and his family were soon 
among the richest people in the land; and 
the promise of Frigga was amply fulfilled. 

King Midas' Ears* 

Once upon a time King Midas — the very 
same King Midas who had been cured of his 
hated golden touch — was invited to hear 
some very wonderful music. It came about 
in this wise: 

After King Midas had been cured of his 

* Adapted from Greek mythology. 



2o6 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

golden touch, he loved to wander in the woods 
and fields, away from all sight of the wealth 
of men, and of the splendors that wealth 
could buy. In this way he became a great 
friend of Pan, who ruled over the woods and 
fields, and over the shepherds and their 
flocks. 

Now Pan had invented the shepherd's flute, 
which was made from a reed, and upon which 
he could play better than could anyone else. 
It was a very simple instrument: one that 
could produce only simple melodies. But 
after Pan had learned to play upon it well, 
he began to think that his pastoral tunes were 
wonderfully fine, and at last he imagined 
that they were quite equal to the harmonies 
even of Apollo, who was master of the art 
of music, and a matchless player upon a 
stringed instrument called the lyre. 

King Midas, as he walked about the groves 
and pastures with Pan, listened with pleas- 
ure to the music of his pipe, and praised him 
so warmly that Pan's self-conceit grew 
beyond all bounds. He thought his simple 
music equal to that of the gods. 

At length Pan sent a challenge to Apollo, 
asking him to meet him and let it be decided 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 207 

by the listeners who was the greater musician 
of the two. 

Apollo accepted the challenge, and at the 
appointed time the people gathered in great 
numbers, for such a meeting had never been 
heard of before. 

Among the listeners was King Midas. 

Pan was the first to play. He stepped 
forth, clad all in green to match the verdure 
of the meadows and of the trees, over which 
he ruled. 

He put his simple pipe of reeds to his lips 
and began playing, and the people listened 
with great interest and pleasure, for surely 
no one dreamed that such music could come 
from the shepherd's pipe. 

But when Pan had finished, Apollo stepped 
forth. He was clad in royal purple, and his 
cloak was thrown back that his right arm 
might be free. 

He struck the strings of the lyre, and the 
music that fell upon the air was so marvel- 
ously sweet, so full of pathos, so full of rav- 
ishing beauty, that all the people were moved 
by the sound. Then they applauded Apollo, 
and laughed to scorn the boastful challenge 
of Pan. 



2o8 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

"Ho, ho," they cried, ''does Pan think 
that he can match such melody as this? " 

But King Midas was faithful to his friend, 
and, ■imconvinced by Apollo's wondrous 
music, he declared that Pan was the better 
player of the two. 

Apollo, wearing the laurel wreath as his 
crown of victory, declared that the ears of 
King Midas must be depraved, and that they 
should thereafter take on a form more in 
keeping with the taste of their owner. 

King Midas had no sooner reached his' 
castle than he felt a strange sensation about 
his ears; and the strange feeling increased 
until at length, putting his hands to the sides 
of his head, he found with terror that his ears 
had grown long and were covered inside and 
outside with hair, and he could move them 
about, just as a donkey moves his. In fact, 
he found that they had become exactly like 
the ears of a donkey, or an ass. 

King Midas was overcome with shame and 
rage, and he kept himself hidden from all 
the people. 

After a time it occurred to him that he 
could have a turban or head-dress made which 
would cover his monstrous deformity. So he 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 209 

mmmoned a hair-dresser, of great skill in his 
trade, and when the hair-dresser had finished 
lis task, King Midas was ready to go forth 
among his people again, for his ears were 
^nite hidden from sight under the ample folds 
of his head-dress. 

Only the hair-dresser knew his secret, and 
be had promised never to tell it to a living 
being. 

But as the days went by, the secret began 
to burn in the hair-dresser's mind, and it 
was with the greatest difficulty that he kept 
from repeating it. At last he could keep still 
no longer, yet he dared not disobey the King 
and break his promise. So he went into a 
vacant field and dug a deep hole in the 
ground. Then, kneeling down, he breathed 
into the hole these words : ' ' King Midas has 
the ears of an ass ; King Midas has the ears 
of an ass." 

Eising, he covered the hole with earth and 
hastened away. 

But what do you suppose happened? 

The next spring the field produced a great 
crop of rushes, and when the rushes had 
grown quite tall a wind passed over them, 
and the rushes murmured, ' ' King Midas has 



210 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

the ears of an ass. King Midas has the ears 
of an ass.*' 

And all summer long, whenever a breeze 
swept over the field, the rushes murmured, 
" King Midas has the ears of an ass." 

And when the hair-dresser heard it, he 
wrung his hands in despair, and said, " Not 
even the rushes of the field can keep a secret. ' ' 

Hold Fast, Tom * 

The sun was setting over the island of St. 
Helena on a spring evening in 1673, and in 
its red glow the vast black cliffs stood out 
like the walls of a fortress above the great 
waste of lonely sea that lay around them 
as far as the eye could reach. Very quiet 
and very lonesome did it appear, that tiny 
islet of St. Helena, far away in the heart of 
the boundless ocean. 

But there was one part of the island that 
was busy and noisy enough, and that was the 
spot where the low white houses and single 
church-spire of Jamestown, half buried in 
clustering leaves, nestled in a deep gully close 
to the water's edge, walled in by two mighty 
precipices nearly a thousand feet in height. 

* By David Ker, in St. Nicholas. By permission of the 
publishers. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 2n 

All along the line of forts and batteries, 
perched like birds' nests among the frown- 
ing crags that overhung the sea, there was 
an unwonted stir and bustle. Cannon were 
rumbling to and fro, rusty pikes and muskets 
were being dragged forth and laid in readi- 
ness, soldiers in buff jackets and big looped- 
up hats were clustering along the ramparts, 
while hoarse words of command, clanking 
swords, the ceaseless tramp of feet, and the 
clatter of gun-stocks and pike-staves made 
every cranny of the surrounding cliffs echo 
again. What could it all mean? 

It meant that the stout-hearted Dutchmen 
who had taken the island from England a 
few months before were about to have their 
courage again put to the proof. Those five 
ships of war in the offing, coming down before 
the wind under a full press of sail, had just 
hoisted the red cross of St. George (not yet 
changed into the Union Jack), and English- 
man and Dutchman alike were eager to try 

Whether John or Jan 
Be the better man, 

as one of their favorite songs worded it. 
Neither side, certainly, lost any time in 



212 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

beginning. The sturdy Hollanders did not 
wait even for a summons to surrender. The 
foremost English ship had barely dropped 
her anchor in front of the Zwart Steen Bat- 
tery, when there was a red flash from the old 
gray wall, a loud bang, and then a cannon- 
ball came tearing through the foretopsail, and 
splashed into the water far beyond. Bang 
went the Englishman's whole broadside in 
return, and the balls were heard rattling 
among the rocks, or crashing into the front of 
the breastwork; and now the fight began in 
earnest. 

Fire, smoke, flying shot, crashing timbers, 
deafening uproar, multiplied a thousandfold 
by the echoes of the surrounding hills — it 
was a hard fight, for there were Dutchmen 
behind those batteries who had swept the 
Channel with Van Tromp, and there were 
Englishmen aboard those ships who had 
fought him and his men, yardarm to yard- 
arm, under Eobert Blake ; and it would have 
been hard to tell which were the braver or 
the more stubborn of the two. 

** Fire away, boys, for the honor of 
Old England ! ' ' shouted Captain Eichard 
Munden, pacing up and down the quarter- 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 213 

deck of the British flagship amid a hail of 
shot. 

' * Stand to it, my sons, as if Father Van 
Tromp were with you still! " cried the brave 
old Dutch commandant, Pieter Van Geb- 
hardt, as he leveled a gun with his own hands 
over the fast-crumbling parapet. ' ' Fear not 
for the fire and smoke ; it is but the English- 
man lighting his pipe." 

Both sides fought stoutly, and men began 
to fall fast ; but it seemed as if on the whole 
the Dutch were getting the best of it. The 
ships, lying out upon the smooth water, made 
an excellent mark, while the rock-cut batteries 
could hardly be distinguished from the cliff 
itself. 

But just at that moment a very unexpected 
turn of fortune changed the whole face of the 
battle. 

To explain clearly how this happened we 
must go back a little way. 

The Dutch garrison had given their whole 
attention to the attack in front, feeling sure 
that this was the only point from which they 
could be assailed. And they reasoned well; 
for everywhere else the coast was merely one 
great precipice of several hundred feet, rising 



214 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

so sheer out of the sea that it seemed as if 
nothing without wings could possibly scale it. 

But they might, perhaps, have been less 
confident had they seen what was going on 
just then at the opposite side of the island. 

When the English ships first advanced to 
the attack, the hindmost of them, while still 
hidden from the Dutch by the huge black 
pyramid of Sugar-loaf Point, had lowered 
several large boats filled with armed men, 
which instantly shot away round the great 
rocky bluff of '^ the Barn " as fast as eight 
oars apiece could carry them. 

Away they went, past headland after head- 
land, while every eye was fixed upon the 
rocky shore, as if seeking something which 
was not easily to be found. 

At length, just when they rounded the bold, 
craggy promontory of King and Queen point, 
a dull boom reached their ears, followed in- 
stantly by the thunder of a sustained can- 
nonade. At that familiar sound the sailors 
clenched their teeth savagely, as they looked 
up at the tremendous precipices that seemed 
to shut them out from all hope of taking part 
in the battle. 

" Can't we get up anywhere? " growled the 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 215 

captain of the frigate, who was in the fore- 
most boat. ''We're disgraced forever if 
they do the job without ns." 

''With your honor's leave," broke in a 
stalwart young topman, touching his thick 
brown forelock, ' ' I think I could get up that 
rock yonder, and fasten a rope for the rest 
to climb by." 

"What! up there?" cried the captain, 
glancing doubtfully from the young sailor's 
bright, fearless face to the tremendous height 
above. ' ' Well, my lad, if you can do it, I '11 
give you fifty guineas ! ' ' 

" It 's for the honor of the flag, not for 
the money, sir ! ' ' answered the seaman, 
springing from the boat to the lowest ledge 
of the terrible rock. 

Up, up, up, ever higher he clambered, with 
the rising wind flinging his loose hair to and 
fro, and the startled sea-birds whirling 
around him with hoarse screams of mingled 
fear and rage. To the watching eyes far 
below, the tiny points of rock to which he 
clung were quite invisible, and he seemed 
to be hanging in mid-air, like a fly on the side 
of a wall. 

And now he was two-thirds of the way up 



2i6 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

the precipice; and now he was within a few 
yards of the top; and now his hand almost 
touched the highest ledge, when suddenly his 
feet were seen to slide from under him, and 
in a moment he was swinging in the empty 
air, grasping a projecting crag with the 
strength of desperation. 

* ' Hold fast, Tom ! ' ' yelled his comrades, 
as they saw him. 

Tom did hold fast, and the strong hands 
that had defied the full fury of an Atlantic 
gale to loosen them from the slippery rigging 
did him good service once more. He regained 
his footing, and the indrawn breath of the 
anxious gazers below sounded like a hiss in 
the grim silence as they watched the final 
effort that brought him safely to the top. 

The rope was soon fixed, and the last man 
had scarcely mounted when the daring band 
were hurrying across the ridgy interior of 
the island toward the spot whence the can- 
nonade still boomed upon the evening air. 
And there it was at last, as they crowned 
the farthest ridge, the tall masts standing 
up through billowy smoke, and the batteries 
marked out amid the gathering darkness by 
the flashes of their own cannon. A deadly 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 217 

volley of English musketry cracked along 
the cliff, and several of the Dutch were seen 
to fall while dismay and confusion spread 
fast among the survivors. Thus, caught be- 
tween two fires, with the British ships thun- 
dering upon them from below, and the British 
marksmen shooting them down from above, 
the defenders had no chance; and at length 
brave old Van Gebhardt, with a look of bit- 
ter grief on his iron face, slowly hauled down 
the Dutch flag in token of surrender. 

'' Mynheer," said he to the English cap- 
tain, as the latter came marching into the 
fort at the head of his men, ' * my followers 
have done all that men could do; but yours 
have done more." 

** And if we had not done more, we could 
never have beaten the gallant Dutchmen," 
answered the captain, taking off his battered 
cocked hat with a polite bow. 

Thus it was that the English regained 
St. Helena, over which the British flag flies 
to this day. Nor has the brave fellow who 
led that daring attack been forgotten, for 
the crag which he scaled (and a very grim- 
looking crag it is) still goes by the name of 
'' Holdfast Tom." 



2i8 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Nils and the Bear * 

[Nils Holgarsson, a young boy, has been traveling high 
over the country in company with a wild goose. He is 
blown from her back during a hard wind, and alights 
among the iron mines. He is discovered by bears and 
taken to their cave.] 

Father Bear pushed Mother Bear aside. 

''Don't meddle with what you don't un- 
derstand! " he roared. '' Can't you scent that 
human odor about him from afar? I shall 
eat him at once, or he will play us some mean 
trick." 

He opened his jaws again; but mean- 
while Nils had had time to think, and, 
quick as a flash, he dug into his knapsack 
and brought forth some matches — his sole 
weapon of defense — struck one on his 
leather breeches, and stuck the burning 
match into the bear's open mouth. 

Father Bear snorted when he smelled the 
burning sulphur, and with that the flame 
went out. The boy was ready with another 
match, but, curiously enough, Father Bear 
did not repeat his attack. 

*' Can you light many of those little blue 
roses? " asked Father Bear. 

* Abridged from Further Adventures of Nils, by Selma 
Lagerlof (Doubleday, Page and Company). By permission 
of the publishers. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 219 

' ' I can light enough to put an end to the 
whole forest," replied the boy, for he thought 
that in this way he might be able to scare 
Father Bear. 

' ' Perhaps you could also set fire to houses 
and barns'? " said Father Bear. 

' ' Oh, that would be no trick for me ! " 
boasted the boy, hoping that this would make 
the bear respect him. 

' ' Good ! ' ' exclaimed the bear. ' ' You shall 
render me a service. Now, I 'm very glad 
that I did not eat you." 

Father Bear carefully took the boy be- 
tween his tusks and climbed up from the pit. 
As soon as he was up he speedily made for 
the woods. It was evident that Father Bear 
was created to squeeze through dense forests. 
The heavy body pushed through the brush- 
wood as a boat does through the water. 

Father Bear ran along till he came to a 
hill at the skirt of the forest, where he could 
see the big noise-shop. Here he lay down 
and placed the boy in front of him, holding 
him securely between his forepaws. 

" Now look down at that big noise-shop! " 
he commanded. 

The great ironworks, with many tall build- 



220 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

ings, stood at the edge of a waterfall. High 
chimneys sent forth dark clouds of smoke, 
blasting furnaces were in full blaze, and light 
shone from all the windows and apertures. 
Within, hammers and rolling mills were go- 
ing with such force that the air rang with 
their clatter and boom. Just beyond the 
workshops were long rows of workingmen's 
homes, pretty villas, schoolhouses, assembly 
halls, and shops. But there all was quiet and 
apparently everybody was asleep. The boy 
did not glance in that direction, but gazed 
intently at the iron works. The earth 
around them was black ; the sky above them 
was like a great fiery dome; the rapids, 
white with foam, rushed by ; while the build- 
ings themselves were sending out light and 
smoke, fire and sparks. It was the grandest 
sight the boy had ever seen. 

** Surely you don't mean to say you can 
set fire to a place like that? " remarked the 
bear doubtingly. 

The boy, wedged between the beast's paws, 
was thinking the only thing that might save 
him would be that the bear should have a high 
opinion of his capability and power. 

''It's all the same to me," he answered 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 221 

with a superior air. * ' Big or little, I can 
burn it down." 

' ' Then I '11 tell you something, ' ' said Father 
Bear. *' My forefathers lived in this region 
from the time that the forests first sprang 
up. From them I inherited hunting grounds 
and pastures, lairs and retreats, and have 
lived here in peace all my life. In the begin- 
ning I wasn't troubled much by the human 
kind. They dug in the mountains and picked 
up a little ore down here by the rapids ; they 
had a forge and a furnace, but the hammers 
sounded only a few hours during the day, 
and the furnace was not fired more than two 
moons at a stretch. It wasn't so bad 
but that I could stand it; but these last 
years, since they have built this noise shop, 
which keeps up the same racket both day and 
night, life here has become intolerable. 
There are so many people that I never feel 
safe from them. I thought that I should 
have to move away, but I have discovered 
something better ! ' ' 

The boy wondered what Father Bear had 
hit upon, but no opportunity was afforded 
him to ask, as the bear took him between his 
f orepaws and held him up. 



222 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

* ' Try to look into the house ! " he com- 
manded. A strong current of air was forced 
into a big^ cylinder which was suspended 
from the ceiling and filled with molten iron. 
As this current rushed into the mess of iron 
with an awful roar, showers of sparks of all 
colours spurted up in bunches, in sprays, in 
long clusters ! They struck against the wall 
and came splashing down over the whole big 
room. Father Bear let the boy watch the 
gorgeous spectacle until the blowing was 
over and the flowing and sparkling red steel 
had been poured into ingot moulds. 

The boy was completely charmed by the 
marvellous display and almost forgot that 
he was imprisoned between a bear's two 
paws. 

''I call that real man's work!" the boy 
remarked to himself. 

The bear then let the boy have a peep 
at the furnace and the forge, and he became 
more and more astonished as he saw how the 
blacksmiths handled iron and fire. 

'' Those men have no fear of heat and 
flames," he thought. The workmen were 
sooty and grimy. He fancied they were some 
sort of firefolk — that was why they could 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 223 

bend and m^ould the iron as they wished. He 
could not believe that they were just ordi- 
nary men, since they had such power! 

' ' They keep this up day after day, night 
after night," said Father Bear, as he 
dropped wearily down on the ground. ' * You 
can understand that one gets rather tired of 
that kind of thing. I 'm mighty glad that 
at last I can put an end to it ! " 

' ' Indeed ! ' ' said the boy. ' ' How will you 
go about it? " 

' * Oh, I thought that you were going to set 
fire to the buildings ! ' ' said Father Bear. 
" That would put an end to all this work, 
and I could remain in my old home." 

The boy was all of a shiver. 

So, it was for this that Father Bear had 
brought him here ! 

" If you will set fire to the noise-works 
I '11 promise to spare your life, ' ' said Father 
Bear. ^'But if you don't do it, I'll make 
short work of you ! Will you or won 't you f ' ' 

The boy knew that he ought to answer 
promptly that he would not, but he also knew 
that then the bear's paws would squeeze him 
to death; therefore he replied: 

' ' I shall have to think it over. ' ' 



224 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

* ' Very well, do so, ' ' assented Father 
Bear. * ' Let me say to you that iron is the 
thing that has given men the advantage over 
us bears, which is another reason for my 
wishing to put an end to the work here." 

The boy thought he would use the delay 
to figure out a way of escape, but instead he 
began to think of the great help that iron 
had been to mankind. They needed iron for 
everything. There was iron in the plow that 
broke up the field ; in the axe that felled the 
tree for building houses; in the scythe that 
mowed the grain; and in the knife, which 
would be turned to all sorts of uses. There 
was iron in the horse 's bit, in the lock on the 
door, in the nails that held furniture to- 
gether. The rifle that drove away wild beasts 
was made of iron ; iron covered the men-of- 
war; the locomotives steamed through the 
country on iron rails; the needle that had 
stitched his coat was of iron ; the shears that 
clipped the sheep and the kettle that cooked 
the food. Father Bear was perfectly right 
in saying that it was the iron that had given 
men their mastery over the bears. 

"Now will you or won't you?" Father 
Bear repeated. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 225 

The boy was startled from his musing. 

' ' You must n 't be so impatient, ' ' he said. 
*' This is a serious matter for me, and I Ve 
got to have time to consider." 

' ' I can wait a little longer, ' * said Father 
Bear. * * But after that you '11 get no more 
grace." 

The boy swept his hand across his fore- 
head. No plan of escape had as yet come to 
his mind, but this much he knew — he did 
not wish to do any harm to the iron, which 
was so useful to rich and poor alike, and 
which gave bread to so many people in this 
land. 

' ^ Come, come ! ' ' growled the bear. ' * Will 
you or won't you? " 

* ' I won 't ! " said the boy. 

Father Bear squeezed him a little harder, 
but said nothing. 

' '■ You '11 not get me to destroy the iron- 
works ! ' ' defied the boy. * ' The iron is so 
great a blessing that it will never do to 
harm it." 

" Then, of course, you don't expect to be 
allowed to live very long? " said the bear. 

* * No, I don 't expect it, ' ' returned the boy, 
looking the bear straight in the eye. 



226 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Father Bear gripped him a little harder. 

But just then the boy heard something 
click very close to them, and saw the muzzle 
of a rifle two paces away. 

** Father Bear! Don't you hear the click- 
ing of a trigger ? ' ' cried the boy. ' ' Eun, 
or you '11 be shot! ' ' 

Father Bear grew terribly hurried. He 
thought he heard hounds and hunters pur- 
suing him. 

But the boy stood in the forest, free and 
unharmed, and could hardly understand how 
it was possible. 

Jericho Bob * 

Jericho Bob, when he was four years old, 
hoped that one day he might be allowed to 
eat just as much turkey as he possibly could. 
He was eight now, but that hope had not been 
realized. 

Mrs. Jericho Bob, his mother, kept hens 
for a living, and she expected that they would 
lay enough eggs in the course of time to help 
her son to an independent career as a boot- 
black. 

They lived in a tumbledown house in a 

* By Mrs. Jolin Lane, in St. Nicholas. By permission of 
the author and publishers. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 227 

waste of land near the steam cars, and be- 
sides her hens, Mrs. Bob owned a goat. 

Our story has, however, nothing to do with 
the goat except to say he was there, and 
that he was on nibbling terms, not only with 
Jericho Bob, but with Bob's bosom friend, 
Julius Caesar Fish, and it was surprising 
how many old hat-brims and other tidbits 
of clothing he could swallow during a day. 

As Mrs. Bob truly said, it was no earthly 
use to get something new for Jericho, even 
if she could afford it ; for the goat browsed 
all over him, and had been known to carry 
away even a leg of his trousers. 

Jericho Bob was eight years old, and the 
friend of his bosom, Julius Caesar Fish, was 
nine. They both were of a lovely black; a 
tallow-dip couldn't take the kink out of their 
hair, and the hardest whipping did not dis- 
turb the even cheerfulness of their spirits. 
They were so much alike that if it hadn't 
been for Jericho's bow-legs and his turn-up 
nose, you really could not have told them 
apart. 

A kindred taste for turkey also united 
them. 

In honor of Thanksgiving Day, Mrs. Bob 



228 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

always sacrificed a hen which would, but for 
such blessed release, have died of old age. 
One drumstick was given to Jericho, whose 
interior remained an unsatisfied void. 

Jericho Bob had heard of turkey as a fowl 
larger, sweeter, and more tender than hen; 
and about Thanksgiving time he would 
linger around the provision stores and gaze 
with open mouth at the noble array of tur- 
keys hanging, head downward, over bushels 
of cranberries, as if even at that uncooked 
stage, they were destined for one another. 
And turkey was his dream. 

It was springtime, and the hens were be- 
ing a credit to themselves. Mrs. Bob was 
laid up with rheumatism. 

' * Jericho Bob ! ' ' she said to her son, shak- 
ing her red and yellow turban at him, ' ' Jeri- 
cho Bob, you go down an' fetch de eggs to- 
day. Ef I find yer don't bring me twenty- 
three, I '11 — well, never mind what I '11 do, 
but yer won't like it." 

Now, Jericho Bob meant to be honest, but 
the fact was he found twenty-four eggs, and 
the twenty-fourth was so big, so remarkably 
big! 

Twenty-three eggs he brought to Mrs. Bob, 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 229 

but the twenty-fourth he sinfully left in 
charge of the discreet hen. 

On his return he met Julius Caesar Fish, 
with his hands in his pockets and his head 
extinguished by his grandfather's fur cap. 

Together they went toward the hen-coop 
and Julius Caesar Fish spoke, or rather 
lisped (he had lost some of his front teeth) : 

** Jericho Bobth, tha 'th a turkey 'th egg.^^ 

"Yer don't say so?" 

"I think i 'th a-goin' ter hatch." No 
sooner said than they heard a pick and a 
peck in the shell. 

' ' Pick ! " a tiny beak broke through the 
shell. **Peck!" more beak. "Crack!" a 
funny little head, a long, bare neck, and then 
* ' Pick I Peck ! Crack ! ' ' before them stood 
the funniest, fluffiest brown ball resting on 
two weak little legs. 

** Hooray! " shouted the woolly heads. 

" Peep! " said turkeykin. 

**It's mine!" Jericho shouted excitedly. 

"Ith Marm Pitkin 'th turkey 'th; she laid 
it there." 

** It 's mine, and I 'm going to keep it, and 
next Thanksgiving I 'm going ter eat him. ' ' 

* ' Think yer ma '11 let you feed him up for 



230 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

thath? " Julius Caesar asked, grinning tri- 
umphantly. 

Jericho Bob's next Thanksgiving dinner 
seemed destined to be a dream. His face 
fell. 

" I '11 tell yer whath I '11 do," his friend 
said, benevolently ; ' * I '11 keep 'm for you, 
and Thanksgivin' we '11 go halvth." 

Jericho resigned himself to the inevitable, 
and the infant turkey was borne home by 
his friend. 

Fish, Jr., lived next door, and the only 
difference in the premises was a freight-car 
permanently switched off before the broken- 
down fence of the Fish yard ; and in this car 
turkeykin took up his abode. 

I will not tell you how he grew and more 
than realized the hopes of his foster-fathers, 
nor with what impatience and anticipation 
they saw spring, summer, and autumn pass, 
while they watched their Thanksgiving din- 
ner stalk proudly up the bare yard, and even 
hop across the railroad tracks. 

But, alas! the possession of the turkey 
brought with it strife and discord. 

Quarrels arose between the friends as to 
the prospective disposal of his remains. "We 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 231 

grieve to say that the question of who was 
to cook him led to blows. 

It was the day before Thanksgiving. There 
was a coldness between the friends which 
was not dispelled by the bringing of a pint 
of cranberries to the common store by Jeri- 
cho, and the contributing thereto of a couple 
of cold boiled sweet potatoes by Julius Caesar 
Fish. 

The friends sat on an ancient wash-tub 
in the back yard, and there was a momentary 
truce between them. Before them stood the 
freight-car, and along the track beyond an 
occasional train tore down the road, which 
so far excited their mutual sympathy that 
they rose and shouted as one man. 

At the open door of the freight-car stood 
the unsuspecting turkey, and looked medita- 
tively out on the landscape and at the two 
figures on the wash-tub. 

One had bow-legs, a turn-up nose, and a 
huge straw hat. The other wore a fur cap 
and a gentleman's swallow-tail coat, with the 
tails caught up because they were too long. 

The turkey hopped out of the car and 
gazed confidingly at his protectors. In point 
of size he was altogether their superior. 



232 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

^' I think," said Jericho Bob, ** we 'd bet- 
ter ketch 'im ; to-morrow 's Thanksgiving. 
Yum!" 

And he looked with great joy at the inno- 
cent, the unsuspecting fowl. 

* ' Butcher Tham 'th goin ' to kill 'im for 
uth," Julius Caesar hastened to say, *'an' 
I kin cook 'im." 

'' No, you ain't. I 'm going to cook 'im," 
Jericho Bob cried, resentfully. * * He 's 
mine. ' ' 

* ' He ain 'th ; he 'th mine. ' ' 

' ' He was my egg, ' ' and Jericho Bob 
danced defiance at his friend. 

The turkey looked on with some surprise, 
and he became alarmed when he saw his fos- 
ter-fathers clasped in an embrace more of 
anger than of love. 

' ' I '11 eat 'im all alone ! ' ' Jericho Bob 
cried. 

"No, yes sha'n't!" the other shouted. 

The turkey shrieked in terror, and fled in 
a circle about the yard. 

''Now, look yere," said Julius Caesar, 
who had conquered. "We're goin' to be 
squar'. He wath your egg, but who brought 
'im up? Me! Who 'th got a friend to kill 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 233 

'im? Me! Who 'th got a fire to cook 'im? 
Me ! Now you git up and we '11 kitch 'im. 
Ef you thay another word about your egg 
I '11 jeth eat 'im up all mythelf . ' ' 

Jericho Bob was conquered. With mutual 
understanding they approached the turkey. 

' ' Come yere ; come yere, ' ' Julius Caesar 
said, coaxingly. 

For a moment the bird gazed at both, un- 
certain what to do, 

** Come yere," Julius Caesar repeated, 
and made a dive for him. The turkey spread 
his tail. Oh, didn't he run! 

' ' Now, I 've got her ! ' ' the wicked Jericho 
Bob cried, and thought he had captured the 
fowl ; when, with a shriek from Jericho Bob, 
as the turkey knocked him over, the Thanks- 
giving dinner spread his wings, rose in the 
air, and alighted on the roof of the freight- 
car. 

The turkey looked down over the edge of 
the car at his enemies, and they gazed up at 
him. Both parties surveyed the situation. 

a We 've got him," Julius Caesar cried at 
last, exultantly. '' You git on the roof, and 
ef you don't kitch 'im up thar, I '11 kitch 
'im down yere. ' ' 



234 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

With the help of the wash-tub, an old 
chair, Julius Caesar's back, and much scram- 
bling, Jericho Bob was boosted on top of the 
car. The turkey was stalking solemnly up 
and down the roof with tail and wings half 
spread. 

''I've got yer now," Jericho Bob said, 
creeping softly after him. ' ' I 've got yer 
now, sure," he was just repeating, when, 
with a deafening roar the express-train for 
New York came tearing down the road. 

For what possible reason it slowed up on 
approaching the freight-car nobody ever 
knew; but the fact remains that it did, just 
as Jericho Bob laid his wicked black, paw on 
the turkey's tail. 

The turkey shrieked, spread his wings, 
shook the small black boy's grasp from his 
tail, and with a mighty swoop alighted on the 
roof of the very last car as it passed; and 
in a moment more Jericho Bob's Thanksgiv- 
ing dinner had vanished, like a beautiful 
dream, down the road! 

Jerusalem Artie's Christmas Dinner* 
Jerusalem Artie sat on the doorstep of 

* By Julia Darrow Cowles, in St. Nicholas. By permis- 
sion of the publishers. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 235 

his mammy's cabin, buried in tbonglit. It 
was a very unusual condition for Jerusalem 
Artie, but then, the occasion was an unusual 
one. The next day would be Christmas. 

Presently he looked up. ''Mammy," he 
questioned, "what's we-all a-gwine hab fo' 
Chris-mus dinnah? " 

" Lan' sakes, chile," his mammy answered, 
" how-all 's I a-gwine know dat? Yo' pappy 
ain't got nuthin' yit, an' I ain't a-reckonin' 
he will git nuthin'." 

Jerusalem Artie looked down, and was once 
more lost in thought. 

He made a comical little figure there on 
the door-step, but to this fact both he and 
his mammy were blissfully oblivious. On his 
head he wore an old straw hat which his 
pappy had discarded for a fur cap at the 
approach of winter weather. In the spring 
the exchange would be made again, and 
Jerusalem Artie would wear the fur. But 
this did not trouble the boy. When it grew 
too hot, he left off any sort of head covering; 
and when it grew too cold, he wrapped one 
of mammy's gay bandanas about his woolly 
head, and set the battered straw on top of 
that. 



236 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

His shirt, and his one-sided suspenders, 
and even the trousers that he wore, had also 
belonged to his pappy. As Jerusalem Artie 
was only eight years old, the trousers were 
a trifle long. He had once suggested cutting 
them off, but his mammy had objected. 

* * Co 'se yo ' cain 't, chile ! Yo ' pappy might 
hab to weah dem pants some mo' hisself yit, 
an' how-all 'd he look den? " 

The question was unanswerable. 

"An' what-all 'd / weah den?" he had 
queried, dismayed at the possibility. 

** How-all yo' s'pose I 's a-gwine know 
dat? " his mammy had responded. *' Maybe 
yo' skin." 

So Jerusalem Artie had rolled, and rolled, 
and rolled the bottom of the trouser legs till 
his little black toes emerged from the 
openings. 

But now, as he sat on the door-step, his 
mind was not upon his clothes, not even upon 
the offending trousers. It was upon the 
Christmas dinner for which he was longing, 
but which did not exist. 

*' All neighbo' folks a-gwine hab Chris 'mus 
dinnahs," he was saying to himself. ** Boys 
done tol' me so. An' we 's gwine hab Chris'- 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 237 

mus dinnah, too," he added, straigMening up 
suddenly. 

He got up from the door-step and started 
slowly toward the bit of tangled underbrush 
that grew back of the cabin. He did not know, 
yet, where the Christmas dinner was coming 
from. He had gotten no further than the 
resolve that there should be one. 

" Folks hab turkey, er goose," he was say- 
ing to himself, " er chickun, er— rabbit pie," 
he ended with a sudden whoop, and made a 
dash toward the tangled brush, for, at that 
very moment, a rabbit's white flag of a tail 
had flashed before his eyes. 

*' Hi, yo' Molly Cottontail, I git yo' fo' a 
pie! " yelled Jerusalem Artie, and the chase 
was on. 

Into the brush dashed Molly, and after her 
came Jerusalem Artie; and, as he ran, one 
leg of his trousers began to unroll. But there 
was no time to stop. 

Molly Cottontail had the advantage, but 
Jerusalem Artie's eyes were sharp, and 
Molly's white flag led him on. Molly slid 
beneath the tangled brush, and Jerusalem 
Artie made desperate leaps above it, each 
leap marked by a flying trouser leg. 



238 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Suddenly Molly doubled on her tracks, for 
her pursuer was close at hand. Jerusalem 
Artie attempted to do the same, but his free 
foot became entangled with the elongated leg, 
and down went Jerusalem Artie — squarely 
on top of Molly Cottontail. 

It pretty well knocked the breath out of 
both of them, but Jerusalem Artie recovered 
first, naturally, for he was on top. 

'' Chris 'mus pie! Chris 'mus pie!" he 
squealed, as he wriggled one hand cautiously 
beneath him and got a good firm hold of 
Molly's long ears. Then carefully he got 
upon his feet. 

The rabbit hung limp from his hand. 
'' Knocked yo' breaf ' clean out fo' suah! " he 
exclaimed, deliberately surveying his prize. 

Then slowly he made his way to the road, 
for the chase had taken him some distance 
from the cabin, and the dragging trouser leg 
made walking difficult. 

Beaching the roadside, he held aloft the 
still limp rabbit surveying it with a grin of 
satisfaction. 

'' Beckon she 's done fo' as suah as I 's a 
niggah chile," he soliloquized; and laying his 
Christmas dinner on the grass beside him, he 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 239 

proceeded to roll up the entangling trouser 
leg. 

While he was in the midst of this occupa- 
tion, there was a startling ''honk, honk," 
close at hand and a big red motor car flashed 
into sight. 

The sudden noise startled Jerusalem Artie. 
It also startled Molly Cottontail. Her limp, 
and apparently lifeless, body gathered itself, 
leaped, and cleared the roadway, barely 
escaping the wheels of the big red motor car 
as it flashed by. 

Jerusalem Artie rose to his feet, the trou- 
ser leg half rolled, and shrieked: " M' 
Chris 'mus dinnah ! M ' Chris 'mus dinnah ! ' ' 
for Molly Cottontail had disappeared. 

As he stood looking helplessly after the 
offending cause of his loss, a man in the back 
seat turned, laughed, and, leaning over the 
side of the car, threw something bright and 
shining back into the road. 

Jerusalem Artie pounced upon the spot, 
dug with his disentangled toes in the dust, and 
brought to view a silver half-dollar. 

'' Chris 'mus dinnah yit," he exclaimed, 
" as suah as I 'se a niggah chile! " 

Then, with the half-dollar held hard be- 



240 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

tween Ms teeth, he finished rolling up the 
leg of his trousers. 

' * Mammy, ' ' he cried, a moment later, as, 
dusty and breathless, he reappeared in the 
cabin doorway, ** see what-all I foun' in de 
road." 

And Mammy's look of dark suspicion faded 
as Jerusalem Artie recounted his brief and 
tragic adventure with Molly Cottontail. 

" Yo-all 's a honey chile," said Mammy, 
when he had concluded ; ' ' an we-all 's 
a-gwine right now an' git a plumb fat 
chickun. ' ' 

The next day, as Mammy cleared away the 
remains of the Christmas dinner, she said: 
" Now, chile, yo' c'n tote dese yere chickun 
bones out on de do '-step an' gnaw 'em clean. 
An', Jerus'lem Artie, yo' pappy say yo' c'n 
cut off de laigs o' dem pants, an' hab 'em fo' 
yo'self." 

Robin's Christmas* 

When I was a little girl I used to look for 
Robin Redbreast perched in the holly on my 
Christmas cards, and nearly always he was 
there, fluttering about in the green, or sing- 

* By A. Gertrude Maynard, in Kindergarten Beview. By 
permission of the publishers. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 241 

ing a merry greeting from among the red 
berries. Nowadays I do not see Mm so often, 
but I have heard the story of how he came to 
be there. Listen, and you shall hear it, too. 
First, you must know that the English 
Eobin Eedbreast (which is the one in my 
story) does not go South in the fall as our 
robin does. That is why the little English 
children sing: 

The North wind doth blow. 
And we shall have snow, 

And what will the robin do then, poor thing? 
He'll stay in the barn. 
And keep himself warm, 

And tuck his head under his wing, poor thing. 

Generally Robin gets through the winter 
very well, but sometimes he has a pretty hard 
time, and that is why this story came to be 
told. 

One year, about Christmas time, there 
came a long spell of cold, stormy weather. 
It would snow, and all the children would 
shout for joy; then it would rain, and they 
would almost cry from disappointment; 
then again it would freeze, and they would 
run and slide and skate on the ice, only to 
be driven in by more snow and wind. So 



242 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Christmas eve found them all smig in their 
houses, making the rooms gay with holly and 
evergreen, and talking about Santa Claus 
and their Christmas stockings. 

But outdoors in the cold a poor little Eobin 
Eedbreast was far from being snug and com- 
fortable. It seemed to him that he hadn't 
had anything to eat for a month. Every 
grain of com in the barnyard was imder the 
snow, no one threw out any crumbs, and the 
seed pods and berries that were food in the 
coldest weather were so thickly coated with 
ice that it was like pecking glass beads to 
try to eat one. The North wind seemed to 
be everywhere. It drove him out of each cor- 
ner in which he tried to nestle, and Farmer 
Gray's barn door was closed while he was 
busy in the hedge trying to get a mouthful 
of seeds. When it came night, poor Eobin 
felt so chilled and hungry and miserable that 
he simply couldn't " tuck his head under his 
wing," much less ''keep himself warm." 

Once, when the lamps were lighted, he 
fluttered up to a window and tried to get 
behind the blind, but he could not squeeze 
in. Then he pecked at the glass, for he was 
a friendly birdie, and had more than once 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 243 

been fed from a window, but no one beard 
bis little tap, tap, and away be flew, trying 
once more to find sbelter from tbe driving 
storm. 

Now, tbere was a cbnrcb near by. People 
bad been going in and out all day, making 
it beautiful witb Cbristmas greens, and pre- 
paring the cbildren's Cbristmas tree. Eobin 
finally percbed bimself in tbe ivy at one win- 
dow, tbougb tbe Nortb wind threatened to 
blow bim off any moment. Tbere were lights 
within, and be could bear tbe happy children 
gathered round tbe Cbristmas tree. After 
awhile every one went away, and tbe lights 
were turned out. 

A half hour later the faithful sexton 
came back through tbe storm to take one 
more look at bis fires, and make sure that 
all was safe for tbe night. Eobin, just set- 
tling bimself for a long, cold night, could 
see bis lantern swinging as be pushed bis 
way through tbe snowdrifts. When be 
opened tbe great church door, the wind and 
snow blew in — and something else, too — a 
cold, hungry little robin. But the sexton 
never knew. He banked bis fires a little 
more and went home, leaving Eobin alone. 



244 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Oh, how warm and quiet and comfortable 
it was! Eobin tucked his head under his 
wing and was soon asleep on an oaken rafter. 
When he awoke in the morning, his first 
thought was that he was in the forest. How 
big and green and beautiful ! Evergreen and 
holly were everywhere. Great festoons were 
looped from chancel to window. A great 
mass of holly hid the choir rail. Little 
Christmas trees were banked against the 
walls. Wreaths hung from the arches, and 
the red and golden lights from the windows 
bathed all in sunshine. Eobin could hardly 
believe his eyes. 

** Chirp ! Chirp ! " he cried, and flew from 
rafter to rafter, and from there to the organ 
loft. What a wonderful place to awaken in ! 
Why had he never found it before? And 
what were those little red berries? Were 
they really good to eat? 

'' Chirp ! Chirp ! I think I '11 try one ! '» 
said he. 

He hadn't had a good meal for two days 
and a half, and if the ladies could have seen 
him eating their lovely decorations, I am 
afraid they would have been shocked. How 
good the holly berries tasted! And there 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 245 

was such an abundance! No hunting and 
picking good from bad ; no fuss of any kind. 
Hungry Eobin flew from festoon to wreath 
and enjoyed the best breakfast he had known 
that winter. In fact, he ate till he was tired, 
and then he had another little nap on fhe 
rafter. 

While he was sleeping the church bell 
rang, and the children began to flock in again. 
They had come to sing their carols at early 
morning service, and soon the church was 
filled with happy faces. Then the organ 
played and they began to sing. Eobin woke 
up and watched everything quietly from^ his 
perch. He felt warm and happy, and he liked 
the music ; in fact, he began to feel like sing- 
ing, too. In the middle of the second verse 
he broke in. High and clear and sweet he 
sang, and the children looked up amazed. 
Suddenly the minister held up his hand. 
Wonderingly the organist and the children 
ceased. Eobin was singing a solo, now. 
Perched high on the rafter, he threw his little 
head back and sang and sang, while the de- 
lighted children listened. When had they 
ever heard Eobin Eedbreast sing in church? 
How did he get in? What a wonderful song ! 



245 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

When Robin was through he flew to the top 
of the organ and looked down on them with 
bright eyes, as if to say : ' ' That is all I can 
do to thank you for my breakfast and shel- 
ter!" 

' ' Children, ' ' said the minister, * ' this little 
bird must have flown in here last night from 
the storm. He sings because he is grateful to 
the Heavenly Father who cares for all, and 
knows when even a sparrow falleth. Let us 
lift our hearts and voices, and thank him in 
our carols for this happy Christmas. Let our 
voices be as sweet as Robin Redbreast's — 
our little brother who is welcome to all the 
comfort our church can give him ! ' ' 

The children sang their carols as they 
never sang them before, and they never for- 
got the Christmas day when they found Robin 
in church. That was years ago, but that is 
why, for a long time, Robin Redbreast was on 
the Christmas cards. Did you ever see him 
there? 

A Tale of the Christ Child * 

It was Christmas eve. The soft snow fell 
in big flakes like white blossoms from the 

* By Phila Butler Bowman, in Kindergarten Beview. By 
permission of the publishers. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 247 

trees of June. It covered tlie house roofs 
and glorified the trees. It hung jewels above 
the windows of the poor, and softened the 
lowliest hut to the white beauty of a palace. 

And through the beautiful white pathway 
of the snow a herald rode, and cried that to- 
night the dear Christ Child would walk 
through the streets, and even as the falling 
snow made all barren and ugly things lovely, 
so would the Christ Child's coming glorify 
the souls of them that met him aright, and 
they would be forever blest who should gain 
speech with him. 

No wonder that a million candles lighted 
the streets. No wonder that great and proud, 
rich and poor, the sick, the old, and the lame 
thronged the white beauty of the streets 
and wandered up and down, wondering and 
waiting. 

The King came forth in royal robes with 
a throng of courtiers at his back. He bore 
himself proudly, and proudly he waited. 

The priest was there, bearing the blessed 
cross, and lifting prayerful eyes to the white 
sky. 

The great singer came, singing his loveliest 
songs in tones so sweet that all who heard 



248 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

him wondered, and said, ^' Surely lie will liave 
speech with the Christ Child. ' ' 

The poet came with his book, and soldiers 
with gleaming swords, boasting of battles 
they had won, and all looked with eager eyes 
Tip and down the streets, each longing to be 
the first to see the Christ Child in all his 
beauty. 

So, in their eagerness they pressed now 
this way and now that, heeding nothing but 
their one desire. The shivering beggar was 
jostled, the lame man was trampled under 
foot, and lay moaning in a doorway, and chil- 
dren were thrust aside from their eager gaz- 
ing, and fell, weeping and disappointed, or 
fled from the stern presence of some bluster- 
ing soldier, to hide in alleyways, praying that 
the little Christ Child would find them there, 
waiting to worship him. 

Among the children was one braver than 
the others — little Karl. He had gone out 
with a glad heart, saying to his mother, '* I 
will not come back, though I walk the streets 
all night, until I will see the Christ Child 
and gain a blessing for you and for me." 
But his mother kissed him fondly, saying, 
* ' Go my son, but do not grieve if you do not 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 249 

see the Christ Child, for there is blessing 
even in seeking him. ' ' 

So little Karl, seeing so many crushed and 
crowded back, though fearing that the Christ 
Child should pass while he spent the time, 
lifted the lame man to a place of safety, 
apart from the crowd, followed the shivering 
beggar and lent him his cloak, and comforted 
the weeping children. 

And meanwhile the crowd pushed and 
jostled and threatened, and no one gave 
heed to a ragged boy who pressed slowly 
through the throng, going from street to 
street, and saying now and again, ' ' I hunger. 
Will one give me a crust of bread? " 

No one gave heed, save that the King drew 
back his royal robes and bade his cour- 
tiers clear his pathway of beggars ; the great 
singer asked angrily who was this who dared 
to interrupt him in his singing, and turned 
his back upon the child to begin his song 
anew ; the poet saw him not, because his eyes 
were not lifted from the book, while some, 
impatient at the interrupted melody, or taking 
counsel from the king's frown, jostled him in 
rude malice. 

True, the priest turned on him a kindly 



250 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

glance and would liave spoken, but that a 
sudden movement in the crowd gave hope of 
the Christ Child's coming, and he forgot all 
else to press after the others. 

But little Karl, now shivering with cold, 
had pity, and crept to the stranger boy's 
side, and broke his one piece of bread with 
him and offered him a place in his sheltered 
doorway. 

" It is cold," Karl said, '' and I have lent 
my cloak, or we could share it with each other, 
and the bread is old, but it is all I have, and 
indeed one feels hunger and cold but lightly 
who watches for the Christ Child and hopes 
for his blessing. ' ' 

When, lo! as the ragged boy broke the 
bread and ate with Karl, his face became 
glorified, and a light like soft moonlight 
played about his fair temples, and the eyes 
that looked into the very soul of Karl, as he 
rose in glad amaze, were clear and wonder- 
ful as the winter stars, and yet gentle as the 
eyes of a pet lamb. 

And suddenly, as he gazed, Karl fell, wor- 
shiping, for he knew that he had had speech 
with the Christ Child. 

Then, while the crowd still surged and 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 251 

quarreled and waited, watching, the Christ 
Child walked through the soft falling snows, 
where little Karl led the way. And they 
sought out the beggar, and the lame man, 
and the little children, and the great who 
were also good, and all whose smiles were 
kindly and whose hearts were like those of 
little children. 

Story of the Ark* 

Now God saw that the wickedness of man 
was great in the earth, and it repented God 
that he had made man. But Noah was a 
just man and perfect in his generation, and 
Noah walked with God. 

And God said unto Noah, The end of all 
flesh is come before me; for the earth is 
filled with violence through them, and, behold, 
I will destroy them with the earth. 

Make thee an ark of gopher wood ; rooms 
Shalt thou make in the ark, and shalt pitch 
it within and without with pitch. A window 
shalt thou make to the ark ; and the door of 
the ark shalt thou set in the side thereof; 
with lower, second, and third stories shalt 
thou make it. 

* Genesis vi, 5-22. 



252 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

And behold, I, even I, do bring a flood of 
waters upon the earth, to destroy all flesh; 
and everything that is in the earth shall die. 
But with thee will I establish my covenant; 
and thou shalt come into the ark, thou, and 
thy sons, and thy wife, and thy sons' wives 
with thee. 

And of every living thing, two of every 
sort shalt thou bring into the ark, to keep 
them alive with thee ; they shall be male and 
female. Of fowls after their kind, and of 
cattle, and of every creeping thing of the 
earth, two of every sort shall come unto thee, 
to keep them alive. 

And take thou unto thee of all food that is 
eaten ; and it shall be for food for thee, and 
for them. 

Thus did Noah, according to all that God 
commanded him, so did he. 

The Flood * 

And the Lord said unto Noah, Come thou 
and all thy house into the ark ; for thee have 
I seen righteous before me in this generation. 

And Noah went in, and his sons, and his 
wife, and his sons' wives with him, into the 

* Genesis vii. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 253 

ark, because of tlie waters of the flood. Of 
clean beasts, and of beasts that are not clean, 
and of fowls, and of everything that creepeth 
upon the earth, there went in two and two 
unto Noah into the ark, the male and the 
female, as God had commanded Noah. And 
the Lord shut him in. 

And it came to pass after seven days, that 
the waters of the flood were upon the earth. 
In the six hundredth year of Noah's life, in 
the second month, the seventeenth day of the 
month, the same day were all the fountains 
of the great deep broken up, and the windows 
of heaven were opened. 

And the rain was upon the earth forty days 
and forty nights. And the waters increased, 
and bare up the ark, and it was lift up above 
the earth, and all flesh died that moved upon 
the earth. And every living substance was 
destroyed which was upon the face of the 
ground, both man, and cattle, and the creep- 
ing things, and the fowl of the heaven ; and 
Noah only remained alive, and they that were 
with him in the ark, and the ark went upon 
the face of the waters. 

And the waters prevailed upon the earth 
an hundred and fifty days. 



254 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 
The Olive Leaf * 

And God remembered Noah, and every liv- 
ing thing, and the cattle that was with him 
in the ark : and God made a wind to pass over 
the earth, and the waters asswaged. The 
fountains also of the deep and the windows 
of heaven were stopped, and the rain from 
heaven was restrained; and the waters re- 
turned from off the earth continually, and 
after the end of the hundred and fifty days 
the waters were abated. 

And the ark rested in the seventh month, 
on the seventeenth day of the month, upon 
the mountains of Ararat. And the waters 
decreased continually until the tops of the 
mountains were seen. 

And it came to pass at the end of forty 
days, that Noah opened the window of the 
ark which he had made: and he sent forth 
a raven, which went forth to and fro, until 
the waters were dried up from the earth. 

Also he sent forth a dove from him, to see 
if the waters were abated from off the 
face of the ground ; but the dove found no 
rest for the sole of her foot, and she re- 
turned unto him into the ark, for the waters 

* Genesis viii. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 255 

were on the face of the whole earth; then 
he put forth his hand, and took her, and 
pulled her in unto him into the ark. 

And he stayed yet other seven days; and 
again he sent forth the dove out of the ark; 
and the dove came in to him in the evening ; 
and, lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf pluckt 
off: so Noah knew that the waters were 
abated from off the earth. 

And he stayed yet other seven days ; and 
he sent forth the dove; which returned not 
again unto him any more. And Noah re- 
moved the covering of the ark, and looked, 
and, behold, the face of the ground was dry. 

And God spake unto Noah, saying, Go forth 
of the ark, thou, and thy sons, and thy wife, 
and thy sons' wives with thee. Bring forth 
with thee every living thing of all flesh, both 
of fowl, and of cattle, and of every creep- 
ing thing that creepeth upon the earth, that 
they may be fruitful and multiply upon the 
earth. 

And Noah went forth, and his sons, and his 
wife, and his sons' wives with him: every 
beast, every creeping thing, and every fowl, 
went forth out of the ark. 

And Noah builded an altar unto the Lord. 



256 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 
The Rainbow of Promise * 

And the Lord said in his heart, I will not 
again curse the ground any more for man's 
sake ; for the imagination of man 's heart is 
evil from his youth; neither will I again 
smite any more every thing living, as I have 
done. 

While the earth remaineth, seed time and 
harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and 
winter, and day and night shall not cease. 

And God blessed Noah and his sons. And 
God spake unto Noah, and to his sons with 
him, saying, And I, behold, I establish my 
covenant with you, and with your seed after 
you; and with every living creature that is 
with you, of the fowl, of the cattle, and of 
every beast of the earth with you; from all 
that go out of the ark, to every beast of the 
earth. I will establish my covenant with you ; 
neither shall all flesh be cut off any more by 
the waters of a flood ; neither shall there any 
more be a flood to destroy the earth. 

And God said. This is the token of the cove- 
nant which I make between me and you and 
every living creature that is with you, for 
perpetual generations: I do set my bow 

* Genesis viii, 21, 22; ix, 1, 8-15, 28, 29. 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 257 

in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of 
covenant between me and the earth. 

And it shall come to pass, when I bring 
a cloud over the earth, that the bow shall be 
seen in the cloud : and I will remember my 
covenant, which is between me and you and 
every living creature of all flesh; and the 
waters shall no more become a flood to de- 
stroy all flesh. 

And Noah lived after the flood three hun- 
dred and fifty years. And all the days of 
Noah were nine hundred and fifty years. 

The Story of David * 

More than two thousand years ago, there 
was a great battle in the land of Palestine. 
At that time, Saul was king of Israel, and 
the battle was fought between the Israelites 
and the Philistines, their enemies. Now, the 
Israelites worshiped God or Jehovah, while 
the Philistines worshiped images of wood 
and stone. 

And the Philistines stood on the mountain 
on the one side, and Israel stood on the moun- 
tain on the other side; and the ravine was 
between them. 

* First Samuel xvii. (Adapted.) 



258 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

And as the armies were drawn up for 
battle, there stepped out from the ranks of 
the Philistines a champion named Goliath. 
He was a giant in stature, and he was clothed 
in a corselet of scales, with a helmet of 
bronze upon his head. His spear was like a 
weaver's beam — and a shield-bearer went 
before him. 

And Goliath stood and cried to the people 
of Israel, ** I have come forth to defy the 
army of Israel. Choose ye a man who shall 
come and fight with me. If he slays me, then 
will the Philistines be your servants, but if 
I slay him, then shall ye be the servants of 
the Philistines." 

Then were the Israelites dismayed, and no 
man dared go forth to fight with Goliath. 

Every night and every morning for forty 
days, Goliath came forth and challenged the 
army of Israel, and no man dared go forth to 
fight him. 

At this same time, away off among the 
hills of Bethlehem, there was a young man 
named David, who was tending his father's 
sheep. He was a shepherd lad, but ruddy, 
and of a beautiful appearance. His father's 
name was Jesse. Now, Jesse's three older 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 259 

sons were in the army of Saul, but David, the 
youngest, cared for the sheep. He loved the 
country about Bethlehem, and he had many 
beautiful thoughts while watching over the 
sheep that he loved. 

But one day his father called him away 
from the sheep pastures, and sent him to see 
his brothers, and to bring back a message 
from them, for he was anxious about their 
welfare. And he gave him parched corn and 
ten loaves as a gift for them. 

So David journeyed to where his brothers 
were, and when he reached them, the armies 
were drawn up, the Philistines on one moun- 
tain, and the Israelites on the other, with the 
ravine between. And as David reached the 
place, he saw Goliath, coming forth to chal- 
lenge the army of Israel, as he had done for 
forty days. 

And when David heard Goliath's words, and 
saw that all the army of Israel was dismayed, 
he was filled with indignation, and he asked, 
" Who is this Philistine, that he should defy 
the armies of the living God I " 

And David's words were repeated to Saul, 
and Saul sent for David, and David told Saul 
that he would go forth and fight with Goliath. 



260 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

Then said Saul, '' But thou art but a youth, 
and this is a man of war. ' ' 

Then David answered, '' I have slain with 
my hands both a lion and a bear, when they 
came to destroy a lamb of my flock. And I 
can also slay this Philistine, for Jehovah, who 
delivered me out of the paw of the lion and 
of the bear, will deliver me out of the hand 
of this Philistine." 

And Saul said to David, '' Go, and Jehovah 
be with thee." And he would have put his 
armor upon David, but David refused it, and 
taking his staff in his hand, he chose five 
smooth stones out of the brook and put them 
in the pocket of the shepherd's bag which he 
wore. Then with his sling in his hand, he 
advanced to meet Goliath. 

But when Goliath saw David, he exclaimed, 
** Am I a dog, that thou comest to me with 
a staff? Come on, then, and I will give thy 
flesh to the fowls of the heavens and to the 
beasts of the field." 

And David answered, *' Thou comest to me 
with a sword and with a spear, but I come to 
thee in the name of Jehovah of hosts, the God 
of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast de- 
fied. This day will Jehovah deliver thee into 



SELECTED STORIES TO TELL 261 

ny hand, and all the earth shall know that 
Israel has a God." 

And David put his hand into his bag and 
drew forth a stone and put it into his sling 
and he slung it ; and it struck the Philistine 
in the forehead, and he fell on his face to the 
earth. 

And the army of Israel arose and shouted, 
and the Philistines became the servants of 
Israel, and great honors were heaped upon 
David. 

Some years after this, at the death of Saul, 
David became king of Israel, but he never 
forgot his days upon the hills of Bethlehem, 
when he tended his father's sheep; and he 
was called the " Shepherd King." 

After he had become king, David wrote 
many beautiful songs or psalms, and one of 
the most beautiful of them all is the twenty- 
third psalm, which shows that even when all 
the glory and honor of being a king were his, 
he loved to think of himself as one of the 
sheep over whom the Lord watched as a 
shepherd. 

The Twenty-third Psalm 

The Lord is my shepherd ; I shall not want. 
He maketh me to lie down in green pas- 



262 THE ART OF STORY-TELLING 

tures : he leadeth me beside the still waters. 

He restoreth my soul : he leadeth me in the 
paths of righteousness for his name's sake. 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of 
the shadow of death, I will fear no evil : for 
thou art with me ; thy rod and thy staff they 
comfort me. 

Thou preparest a table before me in the 
presence of mine enemies: thou anointest 
my head with oil ; my cup runneth over. 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me 
all the days of my life: and I will dwell in 
the house of the Lord for ever. 



INDEX OF SELECTED STORIES 

PAGE 

Adder That Did Not Hear, The. .Old Fable adapted 149 

Ark, The Bible 251 

Birdie with a Yellow Bill. .Bobert Louis Stevenson 6 

Cobbler, The Old Tale adapted 154 

Coming op Arthur, The. Richard Thomas Wyche 75 

Country Cat, The Grace MacGowan Cooke 159 

David Bible 257 

Fisherman, The Aesop Fable 55 

Fountain, The James Eussell Lowell 54 

Flood, The Bible 252 

Gold Bugs, The Carolyn Sherwin Bailey 128 

Good King, The Margaret and Clarence Weed 137 

History of Tip-Top, The Harriet Beecher Stowe 131 

Hold-Fast Tom Daniel Ker 210 

Honest Woodman, The Aesop Fable 123 

How the Queen of the Sky Gave Gifts to 

Men E. M. Wilmot-Buxton 200 

Japanese Lullaby 5 

Jericho Bob Mrs. John Lane 226 

Jerusalem Artie's Christmas 

Dinner Julia Barrow Cowles 234 

King Midas ' Ears GreeJc Myth adapted 205 

King op the Frogs Old Tale adapted 147 

Legend op the Arbutus Mary Catherine Judd 162 

Lesson of Faith, A Mrs. Gatty 8 

Little Baldhead, The Chinese Mother Goose 114 

Little Boy Who Forgot to Wash His Hands, 

The Jane Arnold 120 

Little Sister Kindness and the Loving 

Stitches Margaret Fox 174 

My Bed Is a Boat Bobert Louis Stevenson 7 

Miser of Takhoma, The Katharine Berry Judson 168 

263 



264 INDEX OF SELECTED STORIES 

PAGE 

Nils and the Bear. Selma Lagerlof 218 

North Star, The Mary Catherine Judd 152 

Olive Leap, The Bible 254 

Opechee, the Eobin EEDBEEAST.Jfari/ Catherine Judd 156 

Pat-a-Cake, Pat-a-Cake Mother Goose 52 

Pat, Pat Chinese Mother Goose 52 

Plowman Who Found Content, 

The V Old Tale adapted 141 

Pussy Willows .Henry van DyTce 53 

Queen's Necklace, The Helena Nyhlom 180 

Eainbow op Promise, The Bible 256 

Eobin 's Carol, The Henry van DyTce 113 

Eobin Hood and Sir Eichard-at-the- 

Lee Joyce Pollard 191 

Eobin 's Christmas 

A. Gertrude Maynard (Old legend retold) 240 

Sleep, Little Pigeon Eugene Field 5 

Story op Ithenthiela Abbie Farwell Brown 

and James M. Bell 60 

Tabby and the Mice Old Tale adapted 126 

Tale op the Christ Child Fhila Butler Bowman 246 

Twenty-third Psalm Bible 261 

Why the Bear Sleeps All 

Winter Carolyn Sherwin Bailey 115 

Why the Dog Cannot Endure the 

Cat Old Tale adapted 165 



TOPICAL INDEX OF STORIES 

EHYMES FOK MOTHEES 

PAGE 

, The Eobin 's Carol 113 

The Little Baldhead 114 

Japanese Lullaby 5 

Birdie With a Yellow Bill 6 

Pat, Pat 52 

The Fountain (introduction to) 54 

Pussy Willows 53 

Pat-a-Cake, Pat-a-Cake ^ 52 

FABLES AND FOLK-LOEE 

The Fisherman 55 

Legend of the Arbutus ." 162 

Why the Bear Sleeps All Winter 115 

The Country Cat 159 

The Honest Woodman 123 

The North Star 152 

The Cobbler 154 

Tabby and the Mice 126 

Opechee, the Eobin Eedbreast 156 

King oi: the Frogs 147 

The Adder That Did Not Hear 149 

Why the Dog Cannot Endure the Cat 165 

The Miser op Takhoma 168 

The Plowman Who Found Content 141 

FAIEY STOEIES 

Little Sister Kindness 174 

The Queen 's Necklace 180 

265 



266 TOPICAL INDEX OF STORIES 

ETHICAL STOEIES 

PAGE 

The Gold Bugs ^^^ 

The History of Tip-Top 131 

The Little Boy Who Forgot to Wash His Hands . . 120 

The Country Cat ^^^ 

The Honest Woodman 123 

The Adder That Did Not Hear 149 

The Miser op Takhoma 168 

The Plowman Who Found Content 141 

Little Sister Kindness 1-74 

The Queen's Necklace • 180 

MYTH AND HERO-TALE 

Eobin Hood and Sir Richard-at-the-Lee 191 

The Coming op Arthur 75 

Story of Ithenthiela • 60 

How THE Queen of the Air Gave Gifts to Men 200 

King Midas' Ears 205 

Hold-Fast Tom (modern) 210 

Nils and the Bear (modern) 218 

STOEIES FOE SPECIAL DAYS 

A Lesson op Faith (Easter) 8 

Jericho Bob (Thanksgiving) 226 

Eobin 's Christmas 240 

Jerusalem Artie's Christmas Dinner 234 

A Tale of the Christ Child 246 

BIBLE STOEIES 

Story op David 257 

Story of the Ark 251 

Story op the Flood 252 

The Olive Leap 254 

Eainbow of Promise 256 

Twenty -third Psalm 261 



BOOKS FOR THE STORY-TELLER 

All of the following books contain excellent 
material for the story-teller. While some of the 
stories are not perfectly adapted in form for tell- 
ing, the best of them can be used with compara- 
tively little change. 

The list is not by any means comprehensive, but 
the books mentioned will abundantly reward the 
story-teller's search. 

MELODIES AND FOLK TALES 

Mother Goose Melodies — edited by W. A. Wheeler 
Chinese Mother Goose Ehymes — translated by Isaac T. 

Headland 
English Folk Tales — Jacobs 
Book of Folk Stories — Scudder 
Lullaby Land — Eugene Field 
Child's Garden of Verse — S. L. Stevenson 
Nonsense Rhymes — Edward Lear 

ETHICAL STORIES 

Parables from Nature — Mrs. Gatty 

Firelight Stories — Carolyn Sherwin Bailey 

For the Children's Hour — Carolyn Sherwin Bailey 

Murray's Story Land 

NATURE STORIES 

The Wonderful Adventures of Nils — Sehna Lagerlof. 
Further Adventures of Nils — Sehna Lagerlof 
True Bird Stories — Olive Thome Miller 

267 



268 BOOKS FOR THE STORY-TELLER 

The Jungle Book — Kipling 

Secrets of the Woods— TF. J. Long 

Teue Tales of Birds and Beasts— Z?avid Starr Jordan 

TRUE HERO STORIES 

Adventures and Achievements — Tappan 
American Hero Qtor^s— Tappan 
European Hero Stories— Tappan 
Heroes Evert Child Should Know— Maftie 
St. Nicholas — in bound volumes 

FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE 

Household Fairy Tales— G^rimm 

Anderson's Fairy Taj.^s— translated by Mrs. E. Lucas 

Fairy Tales from FmuA\TWi— translated by S. B. Littleton 

Aesop's Fables — Jacobs 

The Golden Qpi,a-rs— Edmund Leamy (Irisli Fairy Tales) 

In Fairy-Land — Louey Chisholm 

Japanese Fairy Tales — WilUston 

Uncle Remus— Joe? Chandler Earris 

Twilight Fairy Tales — Maud Ballington Booth 

Blue Fairy Book— Lanp 

Jolly Calle— -ffeZena Nyblom (Swedish Fairy Tales) 

HISTORY AND LEGEND 

Boys' King Arthur — Lanier 

King Arthur and His Knights— M. L. Warren 

MeEry Adventures of Robin Hood— Howard Pyle 

Some Great Stories and How to Tell TuEU—Wyche 

Half a Hundred Hero Tales— fi^torr 

Story of Siegfried — Baldwin 

Fifty Famous Stories BEiohD— Baldwin 

Stories of Heroic Deeds— JoJionno* 

Viking Tales — Eall 

Wonder Tales from Wagner— -4nna Chapin 

True Story Book — Lang 

Stories from Old English Romance— Joi/ce Pollard 



BOOKS FOR THE STORY-TELLER 269 

MYTHOLOGICAL STORIES 

Norse Stories Retold — Mabie 

Stories op Norse Heroes — Wilmot-Buxton 

Age of Fable — Bulfinch 

The Wonder Book — Hawthorne 

Tanglewood Tales — Hawthorne 

Story op the Iliad — Church 

Aeneid for Boys and Girls — Church 

Nature Myths — Holbroolc 

Myths of Northern Lands — Guerber 

NORTH AMERICAN INDIAN STORIES 

Wigwam Stories — Mary C. Judd 

Myths and Legends op the Pacific Northwest — 

Katharine B. Judson 
Indian Fairy Tales — Mary Hazelton Wade 
Behind the Dark Pines — Martlia Young 
Tales op the Red Children — Brown and Bell 

In addition to the above, comprehensive lists of 
books for story-tellers may be secured from the 
librarians of nearly all the large city libraries for 
a merely nominal cost, and in some cases without 
charge except for postage. 



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